The madness War

Saw an article today about an economist who estimates the total cost of the war in Iraq, financially speaking, will probably end up somewhere around $2.2 trillion. Staggering, isn't it?

Anyways, it reminded me of a poem I wrote, back when I worked in the type of place that actually had cubicles. The Borgish feeling of just being one of many was exacerbated by me placing plastic army men around my cube around the start of the war and by the fact that at the time, my project was depression (had to write about it) and, at that time at least, I was the only person working on the subject, leaving me virtually no one to talk to about my work. So, an escalating war, immersion into the realm of depression, and no one but four gray cube walls within arms reach to speak to, and little green men pointing their weapons at me from shelves and from behind stacks of paper really put me in a state of pseudo psychosis. From whence I wrote the following:

The madness War

The military buildup
is threatening my cubedom.
The rigid charging soldiers
with their arms upraised
may break my concentration.
In green and beige
they chatter into their radios —
the static hurts my ears.
Those little green men keep
marching around in my head.
they go round and round and round and round
until I Fall Down.
I guess it’s what I deserve
for getting stuck between gears.
Why can’t I get any peace?