I wrote this during the week we invaded Iraq. The world seemed full of fear and anger. I was driving home from work, and witnessed this scene, exactly as it is described. It haunted me, and by the time I arrived home, I had composed the poem.
As madmen drive
The world to war
I, and countless like me, drive
Homeward on a Wednesday evening
Weary, hurried, anxious for our journey's end.
A reporter on the radio
Tells of victims of crime and racism
Of the loss of loved ones
As painful as a severed arm
And the car in front of me stops
For a swarthy man
With a mustache like Saddam's
Probably an American
But certainly, and most importantly
A human.
He stands, caught by traffic
Halfway across the street,
Smiles his thanks,
But shakes his head
And waves the driver on
As if to say
Don't let me stop you
I'll wait my turn.
The car pulls forward. I
Aware of a red light ahead
And a long line of cars behind
Stop
As well
And wave for him to cross.
He smiles again
And shakes his head,
But as I pull away I see
The car behind me does the same
And the next
And the next
In an endless line that is
Oh
So
Human.
