I met a soldier from the Iraqi land
Who said: an old, deserted shack of stone
Stood in the desert. Nearby, in the sand,
Half sunk, a styrofoam block, pushed down,
and covered with a rug, and a breathing tube,
Showed someone was hidden, as such things can be read,
That someone survived, under these lifeless things,
(The hand that killed them, and the heart that bled),
And as we opened the rathole, his hands appeared:
Don't shoot, My name is Sadaam Hussein,
President of Iraq, and I'm ready to negotiate!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that squalid hole, dusty and bare
The rotten fruit and candy bars waste away.
Saturday, December 20, 2003