Another bulletin today— a hospital
invaded by suicide bombers; by gunmen
disguised as doctors, firearms hidden
under white lab coats. What could possibly
be gained by taking under siege these last
few outposts where they tend the wounded,
where so many victims of war lie virtually
in the arms of death? Ah, but it’s the medics
they’re after, the nurses, clerics, volunteers
whose work is to thread fluids into veins, patch
uneven scraps of skin across a burn; nearly un-
bearable, this cobbling of hope from blasted
parts of things so a shopkeeper might walk again,
his wife live one day more to bury their dead.