Inspired by Carol Ann Duffy’s Last Post
News at 6, and at 10 – walking the plank
flanked by news cameras . Splash! Treading
water: guttering – choking – drowning.
History in the making – broadcast onto
my forty two-inch screen, as children cry
sea salt tears, fleeing from lead teeth in their
storified lives, most recently knifed by
Washington’s trigger-happy Agent Orange.
You get sucked into their narratives:
throats frowned, and poverty crowned
battered and bruised legions of refugees,
and the west muses at their misfortune while
they sway, seated on aquatic benches.
Though, the lens shows silhouettes, like
the shadow of a ball, landing in a child’s
hand and it sang. Bang!
Dulce – No – Decorum – No – Pro Patria
Mori. You turn the other cheek, give your
TV control a tweak like the facts of Mr
Trump and 21st century journalism.
We feel good – fed, now ready for bed with
all those tens of thousands dead. Barely alive
survivors struggle to scrub the indelible ink
from their hair, now begging to join our hive.
All lives matter, unless you’re a refugee; or
Muslim; or black; or gay. It’s like Said’s theory
of “us or them” ready to condemn those
who don’t fit into society’s Venn diagram .
My mental factory goes to work, leaving
immorality in the lurch. If I could really
help everyone then I would.