Among the twisted, still shapes in that ditch
a swollen female belly and a pair
of naked thighs, the knees high in the air
and parted wide: hands meet and fingers clutch
the place between. This is the pose in which
Western technology has fastened her.
All odourless, thanks to the newspaper:
the flies may move us, but they do not touch.
Here is their Lord: he 'does not own a gun
or keep a fishing rod around the house.'
Who wrote those words is also dangerous.
Without our help, that woman would have given
her child an ugly name to ward off evil
spirits. It is our gods who are too small.