War on Terror
27 May 2006
We searched the grounds, uncertain of direction,
menaced by mosquitoes and gnats,
bloodsuckers all, while all about us nature
tried to weave its assimilationist thread
through the fabric of our beings.
But we resisted this embrace of green and breeze,
and bird song, clearing the way into the brush,
exposing the dirt, rotted leaves, and shit.
We have a vast unsoiled and unbendable soul
and, in particular, we are always right.
Movement detected, we raised our guns and fired,
the brush exploded, in the aftermath we cheered,
until we reached the spot where the child lay,
a blurr of blood like the brush strokes of a mad artist
stained the white shirt and black trousers.
We marveled that the suspect could have been so young,
but terrorism has no age limits.
We agreed that, despite his lack of weapons,
this youth had been an enemy of the state.
Just think of the level of skill
required to fake innocence, the dishonor in it,
and how we had been able to foil his treachery.
© 2006, Satya J. Gabriel