Remote Control

When we kill by remote control
We sometimes must unload
On ground that’s well beyond the hole
Bombs make when they explode.

It’s excess blood and excess gore
And takes a mental toll:
Part of our esprit de corps,
Who kill by remote control

Surprisingly compact machine,
Just hear it hum and whistle.
First it’s heard, and then it’s seen,
And then it fires a missile.

It orbits and it hovers high
In blue skies or in pink
The area it covers, why,
It’s wider than you think.

The people on the ground below
Can’t risk a morning stroll,
When we so rudely let them know
Stark fear by remote control.

Not heavy hearts but unfurled flags
Here greet each grim patrol.
The terrorized, their heads in rags,
Risk death by remote control.

No lives are lost when the missiles boom,
No lives that really matter,
When airmen kill from a comfy room,
So far from splash and splatter.

Don’t look for valor in all this
That’s not a GI’s role.
But do give honor a good-bye kiss,
If you kill by remote control.