Where the hell are we going? (Mama, is it too late?)

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Right now I am beside myself.

I have been sitting at my writing table

With my right elbow on the edge of the table

Pinching my bottom lip with my thumb and forefinger.

That is what I do when I am deep in thought

Or trying to find a word

Or come up with a phrase,

But usually it means I'm stumped.

I just read the BBC story that you can find

By clicking on the above link.

I am staring at the screen

Looking at the photo of a hand

That is missing a thumb and two fingers.

It doesn't look like a hand. It looks like

The primitive idea of a hand

That might be used as a club or a handle of some sort

That you might use to close a book.

But you can't grasp anything or open a book with it.

You can't wipe food off a baby's mouth

Or change a diaper with it.

I feel like we have crossed a line.

Is anything really fair in love and war?

(Attributed to John Lyly (1579). Don't blame Shakespeare.)

This article sort of fried my brain.

I feel like I need to step out of my body for a second

. . . to breathe.

They what?

They installed an explosive compound

In the pagers Hezbollah used

(instead of phones) to stay connected.

And they detonated these devices remotely,

Simultaneously blowing off hundreds of fingers and hands

When the users of the devices responded

To an emergency signal

That required two buttons to be pressed, using both hands!

Brilliant. Evil but brilliant.

I think you have to be completely shut down

To conceive such a vicious trick.

As a poet I am struggling with the angel of trying

To find an appropriate noun.

There are plenty of adjectives that are well-suited

To describing the monstrosity of this crime,

But no nouns that cover the sadism involved,

The cold, calculating anonymity of the perpetrators.

Hence my pausing over my computer,

Pinching my bottom lip.

Sorry, I'm stuck. I'm baffled. I'm confused.

Time out!

I am staring at the screen

Looking at the photo of a hand that is missing a thumb and two fingers.

It doesn't look like a hand. It looks like

The primitive idea of a hand

That might be used as a club or a handle of some sort

That you might use to close a book.

But you can't grasp anything or open a book with it

Or hold someone's hand.

You can't wipe some food off a baby's mouth

Or change a diaper with it.

I know I'm repeating myself,

But I'm stunned.

I feel like we could all benefit from taking a breather.

Is this really just another story?

I mean, what are we?

What are we becoming?

What are we allowing?

What are we ignoring?

What are we signing off on?

What are we averting our eyes from?

Who are we, man!

What are we doing?

Where the hell are we going!
(Pause)

While I was writing this
I was hearing the song "Undun" in my head.
If I change "she" to "we",
it holds a good message for us.

We've come undone
We didn't know what we were headed for
And when we found what we were headed for
Mama, it was too late . . .