The Greater Good

Twenty Eight to One


Images pushed to the edge
Of conscious thought rebound
Shrieking in the shaking hands
Screaming from the shadows
Hectoring to be seen. Even
The blanket of official secrecy
Cannot silence the voices in his head.
Or erase from his retinas the child's
Big, blank, staring eyes vacant
As they zipped up the body bag.
Was this the price to pay?
His job was just to push a button.
But for one man down, clinically
Killed with the precise strike
Of an unmanned drone, twenty eight Others died. One man, the target,
Practically none of us can name.
Was this the price for grace?
His job is just to push a button, now
The greater good is stained
In scarlet streaks across his conscience.
Dug in shallow graves,hulled out hastily
And quickly filled. May God be his witness.