Colin Powell drops the trowel, calling Trump a liar.

Prez says nah-nah Iraq war, calling pants on fire.

Generals have generally come down on forty-five.

Better to have done that while their jobs were still alive.

Maybe they will get together, form a voting bloc,

persuade all the veterans their commander is a crock.

Ousted from his office, he could still continue rants,

but his only listeners, his pet farm of army ants.

General Bonespurs, wandering his battlefield with friends,

wearing just his long red tie and camouflage Depends.