By Ron Faust
The Drone operators don flight suits,
Put in twelve-hour shifts of eye strain and
Stare into screens with a faraway look
And wait for something to happen
Repeatable
Underwhelmed
Meaningless
Sexless
Numbing
Lifeless
Banality of evil
Then it occurs, suspicious activity
Rolls into imminent threat,
Eyes get bigger, triggers are pressed
And a plume of dust flares up
And settles down to reveal shadows
Squirting blood from body stubs
And family members scurry out
And discover loved ones, stunned
Shocked, overwhelmed by grief
Unable to fight, do anything, just
Victims of anesthetized evil,
Hidden from public awareness
People go about their business
Acting like they are filling the time,
With something important to deaden pain
And disassociate from moral discomfort
So what have we learned about drone policies
When the operators peer at video screens
Like they are filling dots on a standardized test
Without thinking about collateral damage
So far away, so removed from reality
Just meaningless drivel, drones of society
Until we protest the numbness of our dumbness
And wake up to awaken another
That drones cast a foreboding cloud
Over our ability to play and live freely.
For we are the ones who can cease
The numbing of our conscience.
(On the occasion of thinking about the Trifecta Resista 2014 as a way to avoid not thinking about it)
