A Word for Mr. Trump: When the Wounded Get Lost in the Shuffle

I have been holding my breath a lot these days. I have found myself putting my hand over my mouth again and again. Almost every day this man who claims to be our President mocks, hates, sneers, and spreads his venom on just about everything. I wonder what his words and actions will do to the spirit and character of our land.? To us all.

I don't want to talk about him too much. You also have heard too much about all his embarrassing shenanigans. But this latest missle--hurled at not only his chief enemy President Obama but also the Bushes and Clinton. Saying these others did not respond to the wounded and the fallen like he has done. Even as they lay dead around him--they hardly matter--for once again it is all about him. 

And yet--our longest war continues. And our President ominously talks of missiles and North Korea and fire and fury. People everywhere are afraid he might push the button that would do more damage than even Hitler wrought. 

For a a year or so I wrote once or twice a month about the fallen. In Iraq and Afghanistan. I listed their names and their ages and where they came from--and how they fell. There were so many for a while that I just had to stop listing the names and lives of those who have given all for us.

If Congress and the Senate were not so absolutely gutless they would rise up and say: "Mr. Trump have you no decency!" Mr. Khan was the forerunner when his son died and Mr. Trump brushed that grief aside as if it was inconsequential. 

But enough of Trump. Just this morning I read this poem by the great poet, Mary Oliver. Listen to her words. Forget the madness out there. Let us remember the fallen.

Iraq

I want to sing a song
for a body I saw

crumpled

and without a name

but clearly someone young 

who had not yet lived his life

and never would. 

How shall I do this?

What kind of song 

would preserve such a purpose?

This poem may never end,

for what answer does it have

for anyone 

in this distant,

comfortable country,

simply looking on?

Clearly

he had a weapon in his hands.

I think

he could have been no more than twenty.

I think, whoever he was, 

of whatever country,

he might have been my brother,

were the world different.

I think

he would not have been lying there

were the world different.

I think

if I had known him,

on his birthday,

I would have made for him

a great celebration."

--Mary Oliver, from Red Bird 

Mr. Trump it really is not about us--it is about him and all those others.

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blgogspot.com