A Body That Doesn’t Work Anymore

You glimpse it in the rubble
As you’re scrolling through the news.
The head and feet are obscured,

And the torso is dirty,
But there it is, the remains
Of a large, middle-aged man,

You’d guess at a glance, his hands
Over his stomach, almost
Peacefully, certainly still.

You move on to other news.
Someone will remove the corpse,
Bury it or cremate it.

The war will go on. People
Will struggle against people,
And it will be in the news.

But that body, for now, still
Just like the body it was,
Unable to think or move.