A fire of juniper logs burns lazily
and we watch while a neighborhood is bombed,
and people run this way and that way
through the fire and smoke.
The walls of the room
are a soothing deep brown.
The sofa is comfortable
and the cushions soft.
Our leader appears on the screen.
“We’re making progress,” he says.
No spiders crawling across the ceiling,
no dust on the TV screen,
just more war and bloodshed
and progress of course –
right after the commercial.
You remove paint from your nails.
I sip my cocoa.
A young boy is missing an arm
and a toothless man
is crawling out from under his collapsed roof.
It’s almost time for our shows to start.
Don’t want to miss a moment
of our favorite sitcoms.
We deserve a laugh
after all this violence.
Okay, so maybe not deserve.
But we need it at least.