(after the invasion of Kuwait)
It will be my turn,
after the Five-star General
who points with a stick at a map
has gloried in the ticker-tape.
After the battered troops have made
a tactical retreat
to what is left of home.
After Patriot and Scud.
After the oil-spills.
And after Israel’s restraint
has been acknowledged and paid.
After journalists have un-earthed the lies
and the politicians
are back on the golf course.
Then it will be my turn
to go in
insert glass balls
into bone sockets
where eyes once were.
I will go in and I will
fashion up these steel-hinged limbs
I will steady my rage into rubber gloves
Pull shrapnel from gut and spleen
and suture throats for the voiceless.