The Ministry of Innocence

We are only defending ourselves.

Therefore polish the missiles

until they reflect the faces of the ministers.

Therefore teach the drone

to distinguish a wedding from a funeral

by measuring how quickly the guests run.

Therefore place the flag behind the podium

where it can supervise the grammar:

incursion rather than invasion,

pressure rather than hunger,

incident rather than child,

security zone rather than somebody's

kitchen,

regrettable loss rather than the name

his mother chose before the war chose

otherwise.

...

The spokesman adjusts his tie.

His tie is red,

but not with blood.

The blood has not been independently

verified.

America sends a sermon inside a weapons crate

and calls the shipping label

the rules-based order.

Israel counts the rockets.

Palestine counts the keys

to houses that no longer exist?

Lebanon counts the governments

inside its government,

the militias inside its grief,

its victimization and persecution

at the hands of Israelis and Americans.

Everybody counts.

Nobody arrives at the same number.

We are only defending ourselves.

The falcon says this

while its shadow burdens the pigeon.

The pigeon says this

while pecking another pigeon blind.

The minister defends the microphone

from the dangerous silence

after a difficult question.

On television,

a retired colonel moves arrows

across a glowing screen.

Blue arrows are strategic.

Red arrows are aggressive.

The colors change

when the sponsor changes.

A professor explains

that violence requires context.

A lobbyist explains

that context requires funding.

A priest explains

that funding is not her department.

A poet explains nothing

and is accused of everything.

Meanwhile, a boy in Gaza

draws a house without a roof

because realism has entered his art.

A conscript in Russia

writes his mother's number

inside his boot.

A hostage counts the cracks in a wall.

A prisoner counts the footsteps.

A mother in Israel

keeps the porch light burning.

A mother in Palestine

has no porch.

A mother in Iran

learns which words cannot be said.

A mother in Lebanon

learns which currency cannot be trusted.

An American mother

watches all of them between

advertisements

for mattresses, insurance, and liberation.

The world is round

so every empire may imagine itself

at the center.

The world is flat

when viewed from a targeting screen.

We are only defending ourselves.

Says the checkpoint to the ambulance.

Says the prison to the prisoner.

Says the sanction to the medicine.

Says the occupation to the stone.

Says the invasion to the history book.

Says the revolution

after building its own interrogation room.

Says the resistance

after discovering that civilians

are easier to frighten than generals.

Says the democracy

while closing one eye

to preserve its vision.

Says the republic

while sharpening a crown.

Says the holy state

while searching the scriptures

for a loophole large enough

to drive a tank through.

O nations, immaculate narcissists,

you change your faces every day.

At dawn you are the wounded bear.

At noon you are the righteous falcon.

At dusk you are the orphaned child.

At midnight you are the prison guard

who swears the keys appeared in his hand

through no fault of his own.

You sleep beneath embroidered flags

in paupers' mansions

honeycombed between jail cells

inside our chaotic simulation,

our cosmic tomb.

Your generals speak of surgical strikes

as though cities were bodies

and bombs had studied medicine.

Pain does not always teach mercy.

The casino is owned

by men who publicly oppose gambling.

They assure us

the game is essential for stability.

They assure us

the losses are temporary.

They assure us

the house is defending itself.

We are only defending ourselves.

The Mediterranean rocks the wreckage

of several civilizations

that believed themselves eternal.