Desert Dweller

When there is a war and a scalp is taken,
the people dance in celebration.

There is a war,
a war that hasn’t started yet, 
or perhaps one that hasn’t been noticed. 

Things are spinning, the hiss deafening.

Events whistle as they cycle and recycle.
Today’s news:
the same as last month’s—only worse.

Cycles of animosity shorten.
Incidents of violence
become more frequent.

Things go still for a while,
and tension builds, becoming unbearable,
then, when it happens again,
it’s even harder to endure.

Is it true that
an enemy destroyed
becomes a friend?

Dense population irritates nervous systems,
and the more that happens,
the more people become poor neighbors.

Less caring.
Less courteous. 
Less compassionate.

Less human.

More feral, like animals
caged in too small an area,
fighting among themselves.

Man too is an animal.

There is a war.
Maybe one noticed but not named.

There is a machine out there
always preparing for slaughter.

There is a war,
probably one that never ended,
one that is reasserting itself.  

Everyone wants a rest.

Liberals and Conservatives, Muslims and Jews,
Mothers and sons, fathers and daughters.

Everyone wants to breathe and relax.

That wish for something to happen, the wish
for anything that will snap the tension,
is why we go to war.
 
Swords are rattling .
The rats want out of the cage.
Who will release them?
Then what?

When there is a war and a scalp is taken,
people will dance and be happy.

© 2026 Bruno Talerico
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