Back to Podunk

The problem with the dead
unjustly, prematurely
Put in their graves,
Skin burnt,
Humiliated,
Tortured,
Or just raped;
Is that they pray still
To be liberated
From their shame
In the people living;
They’re the whispers
in mosques,
Which rise from floors
From Baghdad to Helmand,
That grow wings
And cause drones
To miss targets,
Hitting wedding parties,
And M16s to jam,
Putting young men
In coffins, back to Podunk
So politicians can
Sell us more bunk,
When all they ought to
Sell us is drugs,
And cut out the middleman.

Reviews

[Kami]

This was deep and disturbing as I'm sure was intended. Thank you for sharing!

[Maxwell Ryder]

Kami, thank you very much for stopping by - I’m glad you could enjoy it.

[poetgurl]

So politicians can
Sell us more bunk,
When all they ought to
Sell us is drugs,
And cut out the middleman.

I found this part humorous, nicely written.

[...]

Very important piece of writing. Clear reflection of horror of our reality . Your words are bleeding and screaming at names of all victims . Well done.

[Maxwell Ryder]

❤️👍🏼✌🏽 Une Saison, you are so generous. It means more to those victims than me.