The Refugee Camp, the Deepest Coastline, the Mortuary
The mother of the little ones who died
Must fall to drowsiness like all the rest
Of us. Her bleeding sorrow has not dried
Out yet, but sleepiness will have its jest
With agony, no matter what. Our eyes
Close, ruthlessly, like wrecking balls of steel
Destroying from pupils inward wise
Hopes. Blinded by exhaustion, victims kneel,
Those Christian martyrs on a beach who wait
For terrorists of Allah and that blow.
We all know mercy. Nodding is the bait
We take to be hauled out away from woe.
..The father sees his son there on the slab
…. Of crime and wishes for a knife, sleep’s stab.