CROCODILES AND TEARS

CROCODILES AND TEARS

(A NIGHTMARE ABOUT WARMONGERS)

I dreamed last night of crocodiles and tears.

Not the tears of crocodiles,

but tears that fill the pools

where the great beasts lie.

In my sleep the crocodiles slid towards me

on skateboards out of the oily water

silent and smooth

thick as dreams and smiling.

Like blind and tongue-less terrier dogs

with slowly wagging tails they smiled,

but not like dogs, or even wolves,

for suddenly they raised themselves

on tiptoe and ran at me so fast

taking my most precious

in their yellow throats

and leaving me with tears.

Then round and round backwards

thrashing in the water,

unwinding tailwards

like giant screws reversing,

they drowned the most weak and delicate

of my hope's children.

Drowning them with such tremendous

energetic uselessness,

killing all constant calm

but tears, tears, falling on and on

into the shame-filled water

where they have returned

to hate and history.

In quiet and secret places,

in safe homes, in old countries,

fear lies there too submerged.

Here are other men like crocodiles,

cold reptiles, suspended

in a bloodwarm, tearful element

that nurtures them until they maim and kill

and we are left to weep and weep

such endless, unforgiving tears.

Copyright Ruth Hartley

Lusaka 1987? A nightmare after years and years of bush wars and violence.