Why You Can’t Bomb Your Way To Peace
A steel-walled room, enclosed and full
Of children playing, grandmothers and the wash and
angry young men with an ax to grind.
Oh yes, and a single shooter.
The loaded pistol raised,
What moral authority will pull the trigger?
And if it does, if judgment issues vengeance, eschews logic,
Directs the bullet outward
To the metal wall in a spirited trajectory
Behind their heads, they turn to look,
How can one possibly predict or calculate the collateral damage done
As that shot explodes in lethal fragments,
Around the room,
Seeking something soft.
“The rain falls equally upon the guilty and the innocent”, we have been told
A war like this, like weather flows
A flood that brooks no peace