The Weitsz Photograph, November 2006
A man sits up in his hospital
bed; a swath of pastel
cradling his shoulders,
much of his skin and a nipple
casually left uncovered.
Too well fed to be
a holy man. He is handsome,
bald, and clean shaven.
His cheeks and serious lips
are sensuous–and as pink as
a voluptuous woman draped
in a teal shawl. A kilter
of adhesive patches,
monitors, and two delicate
pale-gray tubes adorn
his unmarred chest.
Think: luxuriant necklace,
cool comfort, pale anachronistic
Egyptian priest, a London
teapot laced with less
than one millionth of a gram
of polonium-210.
(Madame Curie
named her find
after her native country.)
Ingested alpha particles
have already deposited
their energy in a rush.
Already, a theater of sheer
healthy cell membranes
is gradually leaking
into ragged bags
of worthless damage.
Naked eye, focus
with little illusion.
Ruthless singularity;
creature thirst.
The Weitz photo-
graph: evidence that
Alexander Litvinenko’s
clear-eyed killers knew
exactly what they were doing.
***
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Photo– AFP/El Mundo
This poem is a timely word-painting of a photograph that gives an important historical (and current) political situation new depth. Thank you Scott Hightower!