Predator media displays the horrors
that happen to other people
not me
I see bewildered hurt
in the eyes of wasted aids victims
misunderstood pain of anorexic women
and the anguish of their dark-skinned sisters
babies clinging hopelessly to empty breasts
The images touch me
yet I am untouched
a mere onlooker
as were the innocent office workers
when a crazed gunman went on a rampage
other people sat alone that night
not me
Terror trucks plough into suburban homes
jumbo jets drown out city lights
and with them
the hearts, the hopes, the dreams of
so many people
I wasn’t one of them
Other people’s children
wander lost and lonely through jungles of eucalypts
fall prey to evil perpetrators in playgrounds
live with inevitable death clutching tiny fingers
other people’s children
not mine
snuffed out with one lethal dose of heroin
one wild and silly drag with a police car
or are gone with a sad and simple suicide note
Gourmet media provides the pictures
I’m never in them
so said all the other people
once upon a time
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