Mosul Remains (Poem)

Mosul Remains

     You know we got to sit around at home
        and watch this thing begin . . . .
           ~ Frank Zappa & The Mothers of Invention
           ("More Trouble Every Day")


Not yet the phoenix rising,
the oldest sector in the old city

of Mosul stinks of blood and
memory and smoke. Men blare

calls of cell-phoned triumphs:
fingers threaded into backpacks.

Liberation lingers through the
dancing in streets exploding with

this morning's projected losses, the
not-questioning not questioning

the need to destroy the village to
save it. Victory is measured twice—

in the before and after of every
Tal Afar, Qaim, Hawija, each become

a too-dimmed light in Allah's eyes.
Let us total the mosques un-built,

count the bursts of flip-flops and
abayas free-floating above the rebar

in the shadows of twisting haints,
imagine how the hardest battle ever

imprints on a girl's pale pinked sleeves
and the bright-colored balls in pool halls.

© 2017 Maureen E. Doallas