We're dropping bombs on the Gulf tonight
We're dropping bombs on the Gulf tonight
and every one of those thousands of Iraqis is somebody's son
(like I am my mother's son)
And though heartbreak is only a feeling,
a welling up of tears in my throat,
and though she may cry for weeks or who knows how long,
she may howl
and cling to her comforters,
she will get over it,
because that's all you can do
when you lose your lover and your best friend
and the one who made you laugh and cry and scream with delight
and melt in his arms as the sun went down
She gave me compassion and dancing and Egon Scheiler
and London zoo
and she loved me much more than I could ever understand why.
She gave me joy and pleasure and lust and sex;
she gave me memories of times and people and places worth more than money could ever buy,
and more than anything:
she gave me myself
which is I think the greatest gift that anyone could ever give anyone.
We're dropping bombs on the Gulf tonight
and the media is making it sound as though it was all right:
as though it was not a disgusting thing,
as though it should not make me ashamed to be human,
as though the allies' positions were not full of inconsistencies,
as though the oil had nothing to do with it.
How dare we!
talk about deliberate world-publicised pre-meditated massacre
as though it was OK?
We're dropping bombs on the Gulf tonight
and a woman on the radio
was telling how she'd lost the use of her legs because of a cancer that was eating into her spine
how she had got married and had two baby daughters
and she and her husband had brought them up
in between frequent visits to hospital for drug treatments she eventually refused to continue
and then at the age of thirty-four she had done an English degree having by this time become used to her wheel chair.
She and her husband had more courage than its comfortable for me to contemplate.
So god forgive me for my pettiness;
forgive me for shutting people out of my life because of stupid grudges.
I pray the rest of my life may not be filled with these same petty attempts to outdo people.
Hey, you know what ?
I'm not just saying this for effect.
We REALLY ARE dropping bombs on the Gulf tonight.
And every one of those thousands of Iraqis is somebody's son -
like I am my mother's son
And though heartbreak is only a feeling:
a welling up of tears in my throat.
And though she may cry for weeks or who knows how long
she may howl
and cling to her comforters
she will get over it
because that's all you can do
Poetry by Andrew Bindon
Read 587 times
Written on 2009-12-26 at 15:39
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