'Poor Mohammed's Daughter'

Mohammed's fillings, buccal and occlusal

Mohammed's fillings, buccal and occlusal
In gaping mouth when he throws back his head
Confirm the diligence of Baghdad dentists
If not the fact his little daughter's dead
This picture of the grocer is unusual
His howling anguish, shock and disbelief
The intimacy wedded to intrusion –
A war allows us windows on such grief

In eastern England now, the spring advances
A sharp east wind still nibbles at the days
In Colchester the soldiers' pubs stay empty
As field-by-field the farmland turns to baize
The rooks are building higher which enhances
The chance that summer comes up with the goods
The sergeants' wives must exercise the dogs now
They hear the transport planes above the woods

A gung-ho newsman on the television
In self-important, bullying semi-dark
With barely-bridled relish, talks of tactics
Astride a giant model of Iraq
A line of virtual tanks take up position
And flash up gold explosions on attack
If science can put missiles through a cat-flap
It won't bring poor Mohammed's daughter back.

In Babylon they've cluster bombs not towers
In Nineveh, not quinquereme but Bradley
Where hope dissolves in nausea and migraine
The ancient world, is doing rather badly
The children of the modern world spend hours
With drips in arms and bandages on heads
And 'surgical' are strikes, which does seem clearer
Observing tiny patients on their beds.

"You betcha melted boots we're coming, mister
A war is best held fresh, or it'll spoil
You gotta go in hard to burst a blister
Especially if that blister's full of oil."
Poor Mohammed held his daughter, kissed her
Brushed the blood and dust from matted hair
Noting that her body seemed much lighter
Never seeing the camera clicking there.

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