Heaven opened its gates, but hell rained fire and brimstone on the town, exploding bombs
bodies float, baptized, in a river of boiling blood. Smoke rises with ashes.
And shrapnel left her bleeding, huddled, crawling for cover to the corner of her mosque.
A double-tap! she says, choking on blood like communion, but nothing comes across her tongue.
She tongues her mouth, tasting blood, sand, and sharp edges where her teeth once were as flying death machines return for another round of a blood bath.
Lockheed Martin needed a tithe.
While politicians rest in their mansions
inside(r) trading wars, and cursing the ground the common man walks on,
lying with their fingers crossed behind their backs.
Five thousand miles away, a soldier lies, dying as blood pools his mouth, and a girl lies crying near a mosque and a church across the distance both engulfed in the wrath of Lockheed Martin.
The soldier sees the girl, covering her ears, shaking in the fetal position.
Two flying death machines approach, closing distance in the sandstorm.
The soldier’s leg, mangled.
His other can push his body as he crawls to the girl.
“Don’t kill me!” she says, shaking with sobs.
The soldier covers her body with his,
feeling her heart thumb to a synchronistic rhythm.
Heaven opened its gates once more as hell rained down its wrath, killing the soldier to save a girl he’d never known.
A brown-skinned girl he was supposed to hate.
She crawls from under his dead body, stroking his face, praying in her language, and to her god.
He looks down from Heaven’s open gates.
“Do well,” she hears him say within her being.
“Introducing the President of Iraq, Mrs. …”