War Poem

High Noon

For President Bush

Walking the leaf covered street I pause
At the sound of a chopper
In the distance flying fast & low,
Wok-a, wok-a, wok-a, search the sky
For the Life Flight helicopter

I cannot find. Echoing louder & louder, it
Surrounds me: wok-a, wok-a, wok-a.
I see a Huey headed straight for me,
Then another & another, five

Camouflaged choppers, a vee
Flying in perfect formation
About a hundred feet above the trees.
Wok-a, wok-a, wok-a. Overhead,
I consider their payload

As the wing passes, hair rises
On the back of my neck, & in that moment
I'm an Iraqi girl, standing here alone,
& relieved as they move on to their target,
The screaming crowd, wok-a, wok-a, wok-a,

Twenty thousand kick-ass fans, kickoff-ready
To rumble. I know their mission; I've been in that
Stadium, but today I feel lucky to be here
At terror's pre-game show: wok-a, wok-a, wok-a.
If only our machines could save us.

-Mark Gibbons