Prufrock in Haditha

A poem by a friend to this blog:

One moment I fly on the wings
Of dawn over a Cornish beach.

Next I wipe the blood
Of a dead Iraqi child
From the edges of my screen.

Were even Virgil’s eyes ever meant
To move so effortlessly from
Paradise to Hell and back
In a mouseclick?

I cannot believe the angels
Of a creator god
Ever crafted nerves in patterns
Designed for such a diet.

Today I wept to see a real sunset
Over a lush summer-green
Missouri landscape.

I knew it was real
Not virtual
And yet I also knew that
Beyond those clouds
A world away
Real men, women, children
Who had never in their lives
Wished me ill
Were emptying out their life’s blood
In my name
And for my sake.

I will only know of them
On my small screen
Feeling their virtual pain
And my virtual shame.

-- Robert Boldt