On the Eve of the Iraq War

Tonight, I feel like it’s my fault.
Like I said,
“Oh well, they’re just doing their stuff,
I’m not that political,
let ‘em do their politics.”
and bit by bit they did.

It creeped up on me,
then creeped me,
that, hey, this is 1984 coming in, 20 years overdue.
This is like The Matrix,
and I don’t like it.

How did I let this happen?
Was I off,
too busy with my little world,
saying, “Screw them,
they don’t get it
and it ain’t up to me
to educate them.”

Well, maybe it was.

So what am I planning to do?
I dunno,
stand on a street corner
with a sign
saying “Your leaders
speak in disingenuous innuendo.”

I don’t know.
I hate seeing the people get taken.
I don’t like seeing people get hurt…
because of other people,
who somewhere
are afraid
and hide that
in disingenuous innuendo.
In the capitol,
the capital offense
is to say what you mean,
unless of course
it’s been prescreened
by spinmeisters.

I’m so spun I’m dizzy.
But other people
feel just fine,
well maybe a little anxious
about the terrorist
at the temple,
but that phobia
is now socially approved,
almost required.

I do feel like there’s a rift in the force.
I already feel
some premonition of pain
for how I feel the world will feel
once this war commences,
after it becomes impossibly obvious
that this has been a tragic mistake,
no, worse than that,
a tragic mistake spun
until we’re all dizzy
with disgust.

Ned Buratovich
March 18, 2003