Summer Playground

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.