It is a dream. I recognize that right away. I’ve never been in the room before, nor do I recognize the doctor at my side or the gaunt, sickly child who lies in the hospital bed before us.
I ask, “Is there anything…?”
Motley Moose – Archive
Since 2008 – Progress Through Politics
death
Under the Fallujah Sun – A poem and the thoughts behind it.
This poem was written during the Fallujah campaign in 2005. It is also listed on the Poets Against the War web site.
under the fallujah sun
The body lies there,
bloating in the heat.
Down the street,
the battered street,
lies another.
A lonely figure,
sprawled in death.
No one near.
No loved ones.
No friends.
Only the body,
lying in the gutter.
The marines,
in their body armor,
crabwalk past the body.
Eyes constantly moving,
spying every tiny movement.
The scrap of paper,
blown by the wind,
draws instant attention.
As does the dust devil,
swirling near the mouth of the alley.
The only thing beneath the notice
of the constantly vigilant eyes
is the unmoving body of the woman,
slowly rotting
beneath the searing Fallujah sun.
John Allen – March, 2005