Cold Soup

It seems that everybody’s fair game now.

In the town of Dnipro the other day

Their missiles claimed a two-year-old girl’s life.

And so we still have the moral high ground,

Until such time our side does something worse.

I want to have faith, believe there’s a God,

But was a decent man nailed to the cross

To make way for this dung heap of a world,

This foul dominion of the half-brick?

Round the corner, the hard men fill their boots

And dream of all the perks of après-guerre;

The howls of grieving from the family

A minor irritation, like cold soup.