Today, a man will beat his wife (they’ll say)
And I don’t know why...
I don't know why
A thousand babies will cry, cry, cry
Wail for their mothers incessantly
Behind closed doors,
Stinking make-shift cots,
Shit-ridden beds,
Unkempt corridors,
Where sadder lives than ours eat dust, worm-laden rice
Crouch behind tower blocks, thus
Shooting up smack,
Heroin into toes, eyes, anything goes,
Anything goes, bomb bombs fly by!
The crunch of boots on withering bodies
The death-smell,
The noise of killing when the dusk settles
And wives saying prayers
And husbands saying prayers
And children saying prayers
And priests saying prayers
And strangers, scourging for bread somewhere
From sweaty city skips,
Screaming out for health care,
Forced to beg,
Watched over by an inhospitable government instead?
Sipping whisky, tallying figures,
1.2 million, dead dead dead
- some from suicides
(let’s keep that a secret from the public)
‘Can’t stand that silent scream inside’

I can’t cry anymore,
I can’t cry anymore,
I am beyond, grief.

© Deborah Gordon 2009
www.myspace.com/scareysquirrel