Deadlines Poem by Matt Mooney

The piano man plays on
And the tenors thrill
On the screen this Christmas;
Soon at dawn, it's said,
Saddam Hussein will hang.
Is that the only strategic plan?
Will the Sunnis and the Shiites
Still kill each other if they can?
Because he laid waste to lives
Who did not tow the party line,
He dies. Another death.
And did he have those weapons
Of destruction after all?


All was bad in the city of Baghdad
Before Saddam went on the run.
That it’s bad again today
Is getting easier to say
As peoples lives are blown away
By waves of suicide bombers.

Washed up like flotsam
In our face from faraway
To reach our TV screens:
Dead bodies making news
For deadlines,
As regular as the tidal flow.


Fifteen more are dead;
How many more to go?
The piano plays on regardless
And the tenors raise the roof
But around that deadly gallows
In the capital of war
The only one with dignity
Is the man condemned to die-
And the hangman deals the cards.