Aleppo

30 year ago,
maybe, there were people
whose careers were made
singing about famine.

I was a kid.
My tears welled up.
I saved my allowance
but the store was
all out of the single.

I remember a day in music
class when the student
teacher brought her copy in.
We must’ve played it
a million times in that 45 minute
block.

This morning, in the shreds
of a town I’ve never visited,
in a country I’ve watched since
that fateful spring, people
fled. This is not just famine.
This is war, and blockade, and
a complete meltdown of humanity.

And the high pitched, whining
crescendo of rockets in the distance
is the only song I hear.

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