Poem for United Nations Day

For my Uncle Bill, who didn't live to see it reach retirement age.

It's paradise for translators;
the powerless discuss,
the almighty bows.

The bird of peace alights upon the laurel
and the dogs of war invisible (as they always are)
are in soundproof rooms - we all are
allowed to howl - in blue chairs,
into microphones, to be transcribed
in every language on the earth.