The foul odor of scarred flesh.
The reeking decomposition.
Bodies once animated, once so alive,
Now strewn across the moist ground.
The surgical strike.
The pin-point accuracy.
The smartest weapons,
Deployed,
To decimate the bad guys.
Black and brown people,
More often than not,
Pummeled to a pulp,
Black and blue.
While LCD screens miles away,
Surveil and scan for potential targets,
The unknown other.
The evil doers,
As mothers & daughters,
Pick out apples and spinach
In a market-place in the cross-hairs.
peace | love | uBuntu
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