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Poor Mr. Ramaphosa
was so reluctant
to have to arrest
an international terrorist
at his upcoming
party for bigwigs.
He sweated
and moaned, worried
that it would be
a “declaration of war.”
Torn between duty
to the ICC
and the courtesy
due to a highly-placed guest
of (however ill-)
repute on his
South African soil,
Mr. Ramaphosa spent
a sleepless night
needlessly.
Truth be told,
his guest
was an equally craven
coward and secretly had
no intention
of leaving his country,
no matter what,
terrified of strange food
with his Warrior Chef
gone AWOL.
Terrified, too,
of tall buildings,
airplanes,
(one story was
that the BUK
was aimed,
not at MH17,
but at his private jet),
assassins,
and spiked tea.
Now, Mr. R. can breathe
easily, knowing
no extradition
will be necessary,
his guest (or his double)
will be happily virtual
and can address
his BRICS fans
from the safety
of his bunker.
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