satire, writing, genocide, death, Homer

RUBBLE

my poem
lies under rubble

dead, asphyxiated
would be on
life support

but
there is no life
is no support

my poem
is getting
amputated

will lose a whole page
has already
lost
stanza
after stanza

without antibioticd
without anaesthetic

each line screams
as they cut
through
bone

you will have forgotten
these words
and the mass graves
of those
that have
spoken them

as you stare into the sunset
across the Mediterranean
from
your beautiful
seafront property

looking out towards Greece
the rubble
of great Troy

and the gods
of Homer’s world