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)