blew open the skull
of Osama bin Laden
just above an eye
that
for all its lofty visions
and the height of the man
could not see it coming.
His life ended too fast.
Justice has been served
but Justice can’t be
done.
He knew no agony
to approach
the suffering
of our brothers and sisters
mothers and fathers
whose eyes did see an “it” coming
--a tower of glass,
a concrete pentagon
a grassy field
where lovers might have walked;
and the “it” of all their relatives
all their countrymen and women
who over and over
have imagined those last seconds of their lives,
wept
raged
torn at the air
punched at walls
and found themselves
imprisoned by visions
of melted metal,
blood-dyed dust,
shards of talismans,
spears of bone.
How can justice be done
for such a sundering of souls?
The blind lady has lost her scales
and gone begging in the streets.
The gut yearns for
what it cannot have.
No death could be sufficiently
appalling
no solitary confinement
even in the darkest dungeon sufficiently
excruciating,
no revenge sweet enough
to wash out the bitter spit
he left in our mouths.
So let’s not talk of justice done.
Let’s say simply,
“He’s dead…
one less psychopathic killer
on an earth
that still has plenty left to
lift the bloody mantle
as if it were a sacred shroud.
C 2011 Bob Kamm
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