You journos, you’re poets on active duty,
For you can get disappeared, positively aimed at,
Even with PRESS writ all over you.
Maybe even because….
Today you’re Al-Jazeera, tomorrow
Some scruffy independent.
And then you have your caricatures
In the press-corps, fresh from their diplomas,
Each with a degree in data-marketing…
They’ve learnt the first of the 48 Laws
So well they’re more than willing to repeat
The spin of the master, so as not to outshine
Down the corridors of the Hotel CNN,
Worlds away from anyone’s front line.
Nothing to do with them,
Your ducking away as the shell is dropped
Into the mortar’s barrel, saving ears.
How hard it must be
To feel ordinary again
And not unearthly, unless you already are.
My homage to the murdered journalist Shireen Abu Akleh.