Nancy L. Meek
GOOD MORNING, IRAQ!
Without wings, the earthling drops,
rope and gravity worthy foes;
snapping… slicing as he stops,
the proof his blue blood flows.
December 30… 6:01,
in the year two thousand six,
a black-clad corpse, relaxing,
hung; bulging eyes… transfixed.
Six hundred seconds… 6:10 a.m.
the hangmen’s job past done,
The man is dead; but then again,
not so the war begun.
©Copyright January 2, 2007 by Nancy L. Meek