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Numbers

ninety
two hundred
six hundred

some numbers are

other numbers are not
what they say
they are

forty five
one hundred and ten
one hundred and twenty

are proper numbers
larger than

ninety thousand
two hundred thousand
six hundred thousand

vaporised
fragmented
clustered
kidnapped
gang raped
disembowelled
dismembered
burnt out
disappeared
cleansed
laterally
cotaken out

our goodness
white
hot
forged in a gun’s barrel
and the red cross
of a plane’s kill screen
spits the fire
of our rage

they have not embraced
our supermarkets
our drunken bankers
our hedge funds
our lager louts
our merchants of shock and awe
our life insurance plans
our purveyors of despoils
our evangelists
our Sky
pushing the blue
out of their skies

and the scents
out of their tables

they have not quenched
our thirst
for what our God
says it belongs to us
as we are told
by our own own prophets

we bomb
to cleanse the air
of dust

we bomb
to fill the air
with blood
sorrows
and ashes

and false morrows

ninety thousand
two hundred thousand
six hundred thousand

our children
their children
will remember us

© Pablo Luis González 2006