By Nazlan Ertan (with a bit of Claude)
The Sultan's guard in scarlet plumes
lined up beneath the summit's blooms,
Janissaries, sabers bright,
saluting Trump's Air Force Qatar flight,
Amid all this, the Sultan preened and beamed,
while foreign leaders wondered if they dreamed.
Two chefs with stars - a Michelin pair,
plated artichokes with dramatic flair.
Tutak and Sezener, aprons pressed,
fed guests their very best,
Sánchez swooned at pistachio cream,
Macron praised the Tokat-sauce dream.
Emine, gracious, poured the tea,
gathered the spouses for TLC.
'Protect the children' was her plea,
Over zero-waste börek and pastry.
Hateful algorithms, she said, must be undone,
as her husband gifted all a vintage gun.
Meanwhile Trump, mid-sneer, mid-grin,
scolded allies for staying in:
'Italy, France, and Germany too,
where the eff were you when we needed you?'
Then, between toasts, he found the time
to bomb Iran and call Iranians 'scum.'
Macron, unbothered by this remark,
went jogging through a steep park.
Von der Leyen took the mic to say
'Rearm! Prepare! Ukraine!'
Somewhere in Silivri, the truth was cloaked,
İmamoğlu's right of defense was choked.
So here's to summits, pomp, and flair,
to autocrats bromancing everywhere.
