Baghdad Burning
He hears the droning in the desert sky
again, quickening his heart again-sweat
pours from panic, suppressing silent cries.
Again , petrified, he craves a cigarette.
Damn planes! Like a swarm of cicadas,
they crescendo closer and closer
to the core of his fear
as cigarette ashes smolder
like residue of the crematorium
separating souls rising in black smoke.
He awaits his fate. (The funeral pyre?)
He hears the droning in the desert sky.
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