Bombing Gaza: A Pilot Speaks

The stain of death spreads below,

but from my cockpit I see none of it.

I only drop bombs as I have been trained

and then, far above the haze and blood,

I speed toward home.

I am deaf to the screams of pain.

Nor can I smell the stench of slaughter.

I try not to think of children shivering

with fear or of those blown to pieces.

They tell me I am brave, but

how brave can it be to drop bombs

on a crowded city? I am a cog,

only that, a cog in a fancy machine

of death.