give us a televised war

Give me a baby to glue to my chest 

I’ll do a better job than most.

I’ll try to be organic and dynamic with my every doubting breath.

If we made love more often than those in the programmes we watched, then surely we’d be lustful despite all our faults

Would it be enough for our hearts to beat fast behind a soundtrack of television and the smashing of glass, from somewhere in Palestine or Israel’s heart, helpless and naked and ashamed of our apathy.

I don’t think my heart could have beat more.