In this poem of “too little, too late,” I mourn the destruction of Mariupol, a seaside city in Ukraine which now looks like the site of an atomic blast, and is now occupied by the invading Russians. If only we in the West had what it takes to rise and meet the challenge. Thanks for coming by to read.
Inadequate.
The moonscape smokes.
The sea reflects the sun,
Indifferent.
Grey rubble.
Roofless buildings. Everyone
Has left. Reporters
Seek the safety
Of the Western shore.
Discovering
The locks had changed,
You busted down the door.
Depopulated.
Empty, as the
Aftermath of nukes.
(No need to go
That route. There’s nothing
Left here, to dispute.)
A quarter of
The population
Gone, a refugee.
And millions, west,
Wait, gun in hand,
To guard antiquities.
The sandbags stack
Against the statues,
Once so proud and tall.
The West, we watch
With baited breath.
Suspense has hooked us all.
But rather than
A turnaround,
We see a slow demise.
We watch the wreck.
It slowly sinks.
Although democratized,
It’s not defensible.
The stakes, too high
The odds, too long.
We can’t afford
To be “all in.”
We hedge, and bluff, and fawn.
The Western powers,
Meet. We fine.
We dare not lodge complaint.
Don’t poke the Bear!
We cry, with terror.
Adequate, we ain’t.
And meanwhile,
Mariupol
Ceased to be. It is no more.
At last, you have your
Summer playground,
On a sparkling shore.
To love a thing
And set it free
Is such uncommon kindness.
To love a thing
So much, you would
Destroy it, brutal blindness.
To snatch a piece
Of Earth, to call
It “Mine,” to be a czar:
To want these things–
It shows, just how
Inadequate
You are.
Copyright 2022 Andrea LeDew
For more about Ukraine, read Choice, Remember, Grateful and The World Police.
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