‘Still Death’: a Hard-Hitting Poem About Predator Drones (Audio)

Jill McDonough reads “Still Death”

Still Death

Jill McDonough

“An unfortunate byproduct of this kind of war.†–Lt. Col. Matt J. Martin, Predator: The Remote-Control Air War over Iraq and Afghanistan: A Pilot’s Story

On the screen or on the ground, death observed is still death. Sparkle a target, fire a Special K, hope nobody moves. Then it hits a bicycle. One boy pedaling, one on the handlebars—broken, bent—

it wasn’t there 23 seconds ago. It was insurgents, a whole truckload. We double checked, declared a clear target. On the screen or up close and dusty, death observed is still death.

Every bomb’s a strategic failure, even if it’s a tactical success I heard an F-16 commander say once: that fits with this, two little bodies on the screen. Flung from their bicycle, broken and bent.

We saw bad guys burying mortar tubes, fired, held our breath till a bright flash washed out the screen: direct hit. Bad guys are easier to watch die. But death is still death,

and we’re the ones killing. It’s not just death observed I meant: I started calling the Predator “Iâ€â€”I hover, I watch—two weeks in: So I knocked two boys from a bike, saw it broken and bent.

Or, sure, bad guys, probably just locals looking to make rent, get paid to pop off a round. Do they count as jihadists? On the screen or on the ground, a death observed is still death. I work on forgetting the bicycle, two boys. Broken and bent.