Carpet Bombs

Carpet bombs find their home; swaths
of leveled homes and body parts,
indiscriminate among lost
children, herds and other
targets, reassembling rubble left by
past enemies where rocks and dirt
prized far above lowly men,
women, in land where fingernails
scratched a meal, another day.
Families whose humble goals,
survival, to be left in peace,
to be left alone.

Millions, war weary, make
their way to coming snows
in wild-blown mountains.
-Better than the falling fire.
Terror-distorted faces,
blitzing shards of steel,
to freeze, to starve, to fall asleep.
Is she only sleeping?
Heart sinking, watching
the little asking face.
And he looks back
but cannot find a smile.

Mother's body-heat slowly
slipping, he only asks
that she finds sleep
before they drift away.

- Les Blough, October, 2001

(written about a family in Afghanistan who died in the mountains during the U.S. invasion in 2001)

More poetry by Les Blough 

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