Shantih Journal 3.1 - Page 79

Diction Maximilian Heinegg The myths say Ares made his bed of skins, calling it a war blanket- a coward, who when wounded, fled the field for his father’s salve. Our gods no longer resemble us - the father, son & holy ghost of forgiveness, what spirit remains when we drive the American war chariot ourselves through the Kunduz Trauma Center, firing from a guarded distance, smart bombs by satellite. In Kunduz, Ares finds his bed easily, ten patients shadow the gray zone, twelve Doctors Without Borders surgically struck, the word choice disgusts. Above the battle, the enemy non-combatants’ losses count the drones until they sleep, human shields the damage batters. Savage to say collateral. 79