W Bush
Watching the "Shock and Awe" bombing in Iraq, an example of W's earlier "art work." Hard to watch the destruction created by my country in an illegal war, brought on by right-wing criminals. Like so many of my fellow countrymen, I hated the war and the man who started it on behalf of the military-industrial complex. One of my reactions was to write this poem because writing is what I do.
Terror
Too many white crosses reach toward the sky;
christian and muslim dead together
in the fertile crescent, the cradle of civilization.
The son looks, smiles, laughs.
He does not fear the death of others.
He cannot explain why
military and civilians, friendly or hostile, must die.
The anguished cries from war-broken bodies
do not penetrate his rigid mind and frozen heart.
He does not hear the death of others.
Aides read numbers; propagandists keep the pictures
of flag-draped coffins hidden from public view.
His minions draw the battle plans.
He flexes his muscles for the feral pleasure of the flex. *
He smirks and laughs and jokes before being told.
the numbers of the dead.
He does not care to see the pictures of the lifeless shells.
He flexes his muscles
and more white crosses rise to meet the sky.
*line borrowed from David Hare. British dramatist
I believe that these thoughts are descriptive of the horrible criminal who stole the presidency twice. I have great difficulty today watching that video depicting the deaths of so many innocent people.
If there are any hells, George W. Bush will have, all to himself, one.
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