IN PLAIN SIGHT

The last Palestinian left alive in Gaza will be a child lying starving in the rubble. An IDF soldier will be filmed walking slowly over and shooting her in the head. The media will report that he saw an unclipped grenade in the reflection of her eyes, a Hamas control centre deep in the pit of her stomach, a flicker of defiance in the faltering beat of her heart. With everyone successfully starved, shot and blown away, the blood-drenched Western leaders will scrub themselves clean and declare that at least it never met their definition of genocide.

GOOD GOD!

To be read with extended pauses and endless amounts of self-love

Adam is good and it’s going to be great, maybe the greatest, will be the greatest – I told him, Adam, it’s going to be the greatest because you’re good and I’m great – Eve not so much – shouldn’t have taken the apple, Eve – I told her, don’t do it, it’s not a good deal – I don’t like any fruit that’s been in the earth – I don’t like the earth, dirt, dirty, so dirty – or hanging from a foreign tree or a foreign bush, touched by foreign hands – I don’t do hands, even made the Queen Lizbet – a nice lady, eyes like beads, expensive beads – wear gloves on her tiny hands and we never even had to touch. Burgers are burgers I told her. And I made burgers, me, Ronald MacDonald – from American cows, not European cows or Canadian cows – I said put them in a big clean American factory like a shopping centre or a hangar but with no windows, I don’t like windows, and do whatever you need to make them clean, wash them in bleach, cook them in big furnaces. The biggest. And wear gloves. Always. And afterwards sell everyone a big beaker of Coca-Cola – I drink four litres a day and I’ve never missed the bowl or speech or deal – and Eve, I don’t know, maybe she should have just eaten the burger – I warned her, fruit is no good, and a burger is good but she didn’t listen – some people never listen, communists, immigrants, crazy people – I told her I’ll create all this from a seed, not an apple seed – and I did create all this, everything, it’s true – I created you too I said and you just need to start things off like I started things off, businesses, deals, buildings – I never paid for any of them – and construction workers, I love construction workers, came out 90 per cent for me, even the Mexican ones – those ones can stay, the rest, they’re going back, I made a promise and they’re going back. Ice are coming for them, and Ice aren’t nice, shouldn’t be nice anyway – and construction workers, you know, the crazies on the left tried to say my song was gay – it’s a gay song they said – GAY – YMCA – we’re closing those places down by the way, all of them, full of bad people, injecting, making trouble – the swamp people don’t want us to have fun or dance or salute anymore, it’s very sad – a traffic cop, a cowboy, and a construction worker, they’re real men! – and I was telling Eve how I started it all off, not just songs or buildings but worlds, things like that, and a woman with a man is just beautiful, so beautiful – why didn’t you listen, Eve? – and I’m beautiful – maybe I shouldn’t say it, I don’t know, but a lot of people are saying it. You, they say, you’re beautiful, and you took a bullet for us and your hair is so good, your skin, everything, and you’re going to make everything good. God saved you for a reason, you know? And I say, yes, I know, I saved myself and it was a good deal and I’m going to make everything great again but Eve, she just didn’t get it – you needed to believe, Eve, just needed to believe – I explained it’s like if I put a tariff – I love tariffs, tariffs are good – on your apple, it’d make it cost more and we’d all make more money so you can’t just pick it and eat it – it’s science, good science, business science, not Chinese science or bad science, it’s the only science – then because Eve ate it, came wars, and more wars. So much killing and I said, I’ll stop it. I’ll stop you, wars – wars are bad and good is good. God is God and God is good. And I’m good, I’m God. I’m good God.

THE SUITCASE

He carries the suitcaselike he means business. He carries it like he cares about it. He carries it like he cares about it too much. He carries it like he’s been somewhere with it. Like they’ve been somewhere. Together. The suitcase and him.

The suitcase never leaves his side. A family heirloom some suggest. Or it’s carrying stolen goods. A suitcase of lifesaving or painkilling pills. For his gout – he has a limp, after all – or chemo for his unseen cancer. A suitcase to hold his collection of false teeth. Only one person suggests that. That would mean he’s a travelling tooth salesman. Tooth fairy? Disgraced dentist? After a short argument, we agree the suitcase isn’t carrying false teeth, and the man who suggested it gets his coat and leaves.

 It’s a serious business and people get unsettled, don’t they, and need to know what’s going on because a man carrying a suitcase everywhere he goes, never leaving his side, arouses suspicion. It’s natural, it’s human nature to be inquisitive. To care what’s happening in their neighbourhood. What if he’s a refugee wanting shelter? A home? One of our homes? What if he’s come out of hospital and he’s lost his mind and doesn’t know where he is or even who he is? What if he’s a murderer carrying the body parts of his victim? What if he’s carrying a bomb?

Wouldn’t it be a good idea to talk to him, some people might think. To ask his name. Ask him where he’s come from. How long he’s staying. Where he’s going. Ask him what he has inside the suitcase.

But what if he becomes defensive when he’s questioned? Aggressive? Upset? Starts crying? Starts shouting? Starts laughing? Uncontrollably? Like he’s demented or having some kind of fit? What if he triggers the bomb? On purpose? By mistake? Either way, it’s going off, and then everyone will be sorry.

Better to call for help before it’s too late. Ring friends. Supporters. People who care about this type of thing. Shout into alleyways. Yell from rooftops. Send messages online. Sort it out. Sort him out. Grab his suitcase. Open it – it’s not going to be a bomb. Very unlikely to be. It would have gone off by now.  Empty it out. Throw everything away. Burn it. Tell him he shouldn’t be here. Making trouble. Threatening people. Taking what’s ours. He doesn’t belong. Tell him that even if he doesn’t understand.

He’ll know it anyway. He’ll see it in our expressions. In our eyes. In the flickering flames above him. On our soles of our shoes raining down. On the tattoos on our arms and fists – mum, flag, love, hate, brothers, united.

SHARED ANGER

ice through their veins,

a slab holding form,

despite the friction,

the heat from outside,

ruling with fists,

starving with favours,

silencing the herd,

who die to speak,

bloodletting on tap,

hearts drip dried,

dissing the truth,

with viral overloads,

too much screen time,

ranting scream time,

your touch that held,

now fallen aside,

time to reach out,

strike a match,

risk immolation,

for a kiss, touch,

to line the kerbs,

break down barricades,

disarm the neighbour,

who carries the flag,

anger is my fire,

and if you hold it,

I hold you too,

and the fire catches.

See also https://www.culturematters.org.uk/author/alan-mccormick/