To A Techno-Man

Michael Peach

On the border of my fragile Eden,
The Jerusalem Botanical Gardens,
You stand outside your rented, stone hut
(A man-made cave) in high-tech shades
And micro-Y-fronts, flexing your muscles
And blasting the wadi with waves of Techno.
Even the reptiles are petrified.

You modern Samsons are so big-headed
You voluntarily shave your scalps.
I can imagine your view of peace:
Standing on the wall, machine-gun in hand,
Directing mindless, wordless, toxic
Techno at penned-in Palestine.

And here’s a voluntary confession:
When the mercenary Israel Museum,
Opposite which I live and write,
Let its premises to zombies like you,
As did the owners of the country’s
Last unspoiled beach, this very summer,
I was possessed by the urge to be
A suicide bomber; but, being a poet
And introvert, I imploded instead.

But, tell me, do you know at all
What are empathy and dialogue?
Have you read Buber, or even heard
Of him? Perhaps you represent
Jewish enantiodromia –
Heraclitus and Hitler would be chuffed.
In short, I fear the Occupation
Has forged a race of robots, who find
That only Techno can vibrate
And echo their hardened, martial hearts.

                1 August 2003

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