Poem

I hate self-publishing. But sometimes I put up something that I know probably won't get published. I just found this in an email to my dad.


All over the city

the sky is relentlessly silent.

People dress for dinner,

put their kids to bed,

live throughout buildings

masqueraded as stars.

Still, the knowledge that war exists

pervades everything. Guilt

settles down on the innocent

so that even going about one’s business

becomes an act of defiance.



But the war is over.

Isn’t it?



A few men circle the main square

giving the illusion to the common eye

of a cast of thousands.

On the final day

of coverage, rain drenches

the desert like God

forgiving propaganda of its sins.



The camera lingers

on a bewildered face,

a wife knows before the phone rings,

before the words are spoken,

while men in turbans break down,

while a mother screams to emptiness.

Five thousand miles away,

even my own son is not safe.

And I can not bring myself to love

this world anymore.