Another War, always just
one more
It goes on: the
troops advance, the bombs fall,
and finally,
the city’s taken. What then?
Our empire’s
come too easily; the price paid
far more in their blood than ours.
Our possession's ill-founded,
a bastard born of oil, not mere lust.
If lust alone,
then its end known
and welcome, we could sleep,
rest in the arms of our beloved,
and fall into the night’s calm.
But this is denied
us: our fate
is to burn without rest. Fearful
lest
our conquest turn on us,
the orders come down:
Trust no one who
surrenders.
They are sleepers waiting to rise
up first chance and murder us
as we did their parents, wives,
husbands, and children.
Oh yes, we will
liberate them,
but
in our good time, in our
good
time, not theirs. For they
are
the losers, and we are the victors.
20 March 2003,
Vallejo, California
Joseph E Fasciani