Flight 800 7/18/1996

A fiery streak
across the evening sky,
a plane exploding
and hundreds had to die,
no rhyme, no reason
and no one knows just why,
could be a bomb
put there by some fanatic,
some fundamentalist
with screws loose in his attic
or some hot shot pilot
shooting off some friendly fire
at anything crossing his wire
or nothing evil or satanic,
only the workmanship
of a retarded, drunk mechanic,
and politicians cry and wail,
blowing a lot of wind
into their electioneering sail
while lawyers chase relatives
with tongues of love and honey
to get their legal fees
and make a lot of money
with media circuses
who are always in fashion,
the bloodier the event
the greater is the passion
while everyone shouts happily
this blown up corpse
could have been me,
ah yes, we humans are a sorry lot,
we may deserve all we have got,
but than this earth, this universe
is quite peculiar, quite perverse,
nothing is ever what it ought to be,
we talk morality yet we spread misery,
let's change all this, be nice and good,
just put some Prozac into our food
but do fondly remember those lost lives
and pay condolences to their
families, children, fathers, wives...

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2009 Alfred Charasz