Your response has convinced me that the poem has merit.  I shall send it off for publication.  Here is the final Draft:

Towers and Dust

I'm weary of hearing about missing towers;
And men
Going by the names of Osama and Saddam;
I prefer Ben and Jerry,
Tom, Dick and Harry.

I'm weary of seeing our people
At restaurants ordering decaffeinated coffee.
I'm weary of thinking of three men
In two cars
On a Florida highway
And that thought only began this morning,
And I'm already weary of it.
In the end
The joke will be on them:
Ha.  Ha.

I'm weary from the knowledge
That I can not trust you.
I'm weary of thinking about the world
Outside of our borders;
We're all starting not to care about the rest of the world.

Do not be for us;
Keep well in mind your lack
Of oil reserves
And character
Your increasing aerobatic population;
Do us no great favor you who consort with the oily devils
Who keep their women in veiled chains
Their children in ignorant obedience
Pay suicide bombers and harbor terrorists.

I'm so so weary of you.

The next time Paris
Needs to be liberated,
I do so hope you have a Plan B,
And if you do not,
then do not fear,
for we have a fond remembrance
Of you:
The lady in the harbor still glistens,
even as her towers are now dust.