Butchering
to the sound
of Frank Sinatra
The slit
throats
of Abu Ghraib
the way they hang
and slice the throats
of pigs
at slaughterhouses
and then we eat
the blood turned black
the sweet warm blood
of men
and not
of pigs
What kind of people are we
that we cannot stop this
And votes are binned
in Haiti
that´s what we think
of the decision of the people
we let it rot
the precious voice
with yesterday´s leftovers
and the rats
some dump in Port au Prince
The blood of four children
on their way to school
in Fadel, Baghdad
a quiet
neighbourhood
What good was it
for the mother
to scream to the winds
of the West and East
after blood was shed
and the Hope was dead
“we know nothing of politics”
“we are simple people”
“we know nothing
of politics”
