Tonight I Typed

Tonight I typed

I didn’t have enough tissues to wipe away the debris of spittle

And I yelled until my housemates asked me to keep the noise down

They had work in the morning, and, to be fair, so did I.

In the brief moments my internet crashed

I continued to thump against the desk, just to try and relax.

I typed and typed until my fingers were simply bone

And my keyboard short circuited as it overflowed in blood.

Only when my head was spinning from the dents

And only when I had ground my teeth into fine powder did

I hear in the distance the share holders of BAE systems

Wheezing to raise their wadded wallets to their puckered lips.

I heard The Allies breathing a sigh of relief.  Phew.  No one noticed.

I heard the orphan, clearing their throat, some rubble, digging.

I heard the parent’s tears trickling onto what remained.

Then I heard The Terrorist fill in another Weapon Resupply Form

for another resupply of recruits.

No, I didn’t.  I couldn’t hear all that.  I was safe in my walls.

But I could hear the brutal cheering of politicians of all colours

United, together, in the squealing joy of a successful evening.

And as the morning sun rose, the bombs started to fall.