you and I could change all this
to an Iraqi poet
while i am shown
generals on CNN
doing comic shtick
to the video images
sent back from weapons
smarter than them
they would have me believe
you have jars of mustard
gas fermenting in your cellar
petri dishes of black jello
ripening in your fridge
you are the crazed islamic
warrior turning armageddon
into something more than
just another computer game
achieving spiritual completion
only when the fires of mass
destruction lick the eyebrows
off our faces
i will not be shown your grief
as you sift through the rubble
of our drive-by missile strikes
pulling out the limp bodies of
your crushed and bloodied babies
i will not be shown the women
crying at the funerals of their
husbands and sons as they implore
Allah to retaliate without mercy
on this land of coca cola and
super bowl Sundays
you and i could change all this
meet at some clandestine
location and build a missile
of words
launch it into the bureaucratic
bellies of our leaders
who bring me shame
and you, pain
then
we could hold hands
bow our heads
cleanse ourselves with
our tears
pray in a language
we would both
understand
-Richard Vargas
Poetry helps us see. It calls us to action. It reminds us.
