The ashes of intact houses
are dashed upon your back.
These intact victim's blouses
are on you torn and wracked.
The healthy soldier's gun wound
is placed upon your chest.
The youthful elder's skin pruned
but on your face looks best.
A thousand radiations
of a thousand unmarred lives
sees you as a nation
with nobody nor their wives.
And your knuckles are charred black
with the burns of a rescued child
and a rampant blind attack
on you is made to be mild.
The manuscript of welts
upon a young girl's brow
is transferred from his belt
onto just you now.
And your feet are crippled
with a running boy's fall.
Your painless lake has rippled
from the sick stone of us all.