That Night Poem by Len Webster

On the night that they hanged Saddam Hussein
We were not speaking.
Weary and bored, not least by the high winds,
We were barely curious, our attention
More on the Far East, where an earthquake
Had threatened a more innocent world.
The Middle East had, frankly, become tedious,
Though no less dangerous for that.

On the night that they hanged Saddam Hussein
We slept in separate rooms.
The day had been long, wild and windy,
Storm damage warnings broadcast on the news
Twenty-two yers to the date since my father's sudden death
Had taken my mother by surprise,
Anticipating bad news when a policeman called
And knocked solemnly at her door.

On the night that they hanged Saddam Hussein
Gangsters continued to play political games,
Kidnap and kill on private whims,
Seeking fulfilment in a cult of death.
And outside my window the wind hurled, howling
In keeping with my mood that awaited the private storm,
Fermenting as it would in the bleakness of a night
Echoing with the malevolence of disappointment.

December 2006