I, Icon

They spied me in the sky, dropping bombs of love on Ferguson, and bitchy women's rooms; and rednecks' shooting range was next, the blooded boxing glove. They spotted me in Tel-aviv and also in Tehran, collecting Jewish kisses for the Iranian Imam. They toasted me in the family courts, breaking hearts I quickly soothed, and at their breakfast;Klu Klux Klan, I spread their toast with jam. They gifted me with patted back in Auschwitz and Guantanamo, compassion was my hand; while Isis and Seal Team 6, provided me a marching band. They lauded me with accolades, the bankers and the poor, while serial killers and the FBI, shot my name into the sky, like Gotham on the screen. And now I rest my head this night, beneath the troubled moon, for tomorrow I go partying, with venerable, Ban-Ki-moon