Just War

The camera pans in on a woman
tearful
distressed
clutching a child
Then a long shot
A muddy field
An encampment
Hundreds of people
thousands perhaps
Deadened eyes
Waiting
Tired, forlorn ...
Where are we?
Kosovo?
Afghanistan?
Kurdistan?
Iraq?
Somalia?
Rwanda?
Chechnia?
Bangladesh?
Or, maybe, Vietnam
The scene changes
The sky is black
We can just make out
a shape
A plane
But it's the sound that draws us in
A hypnotic sound
A relentless drone
The shot cuts quickly to a close-up
Inside the cockpit
a man
Young
Fresh-faced
Innocent
His finger poised on a button
But this time it's not a computer game
Suddenly we are hurtling to earth
courtesy of the camera
connected to the missile
Below, the faint lights of a city
In the city another woman
tearful
distressed
clutching a child
But the camera on the missile can't see that
It sees only a building
A factory
The camera doesn't see inside the building
Nor does the young man in the plane
Neither see the workers
sitting rigid on the factory floor
Holding hands
The missile has a bloodless sound
Not the high pitched whine of rockets
on the Fourth of July
Did they hear it
the workers holding hands?
Did their knuckles turn white?

The camera doesn't know
It doesn't hear
It only sees the factory walls
Closer
Closer
Closer
And then ...
Nothing
It ceases to exist
Along with the missile
and the factory
and the Collateral Damage inside

'A Just War,’ says my friend
‘Just war,' I reply.