Postcard 211

 

 Armistice Day, 2023

For quite a while now, I have asked,
To what purpose are my paid labors taxed?

The roads are bad, the schools are worse,
The healthcare seems some kind of curse.

I’ve propped up CEO’s and banks,
And those “too big” without much thanks.

But I’ve always know what it is for:
Tanks, guns, bombs; the armaments of war.

These toys in which my money’s been invested
Have so far this century been well tested,

But printed columns reporting on lives lost
Are such a cool accounting of the costs.

One gets the feeling one’s being billed
By gross for certain numbers maimed or killed.

So, I praise these new geniuses of tech
Who have enabled what’s so far been bereft.

With bombs, drones, phones and all things smart,
They have humanized our wars and brought about the art.

Forget minds and hearts and theoretical ideals,
Here: bones, blood and screams — body parts, the real!

Is there anything so patriotic, anything so sweet,
Than to see my dollars, in real time, obliterate a city street?

I now see my investments so wetly proved.
I tell you, I’ve never been so profoundly moved

With owners pride in each fresh bomb,
To see and hear who its been dropped upon.

The people there? Well it is a shame,
But there must be losers in every game.

So to the lobbyists, the state department, its diplomats,
My congressman, my senator, my president -- I doff my hat.

I have here, carried in my pocket, streaming through my phone,
Held within the unmolested safety of my home,

A bit of war securitized, a piece to own:
A stake, a share, an NFT, a real war-zone!

Thank God and country we can finally see
Our consequence so viscerally.