Baghdad Ballet
(March, 2003)
A young boy sits, on his mother’s shoulders,
smile-excited in the sunshine, taking part in a parade.
He proudly thrusts the finger-sign of peace.
Nice to see in an Iraqi child – family
bombardered by ‘Shock and Awe’ the night before,
forgiving.
But the visual is blitzed as it flashes onscreen,
by the plastic Sten gun held aloft,
background-brandished in the child’s other hand.
Do you think the young lad plays
in secret tunnels, knows where to hide,
where doubles walk to keep the myth alive,
the magic tricks to keep awake illusions
of a still-controlled-city.
Streetlights burn in defiance of invaders largesse.
Traffic moves through the night
while bright glows explode in distant thunder
and shower shrapnel as
we sit on green comfy sofas,
presumed warm and safe inside,
miles away watching the performance
on TV young Liam wears red and white,
holds his defiant hurly high – a warrior
enjoying the sunshine day parade
– a protest for peace in Shannon.
Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003
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