Another poem from the pen of Z regular, writer, performer, and activist George Capaccio, who uses poetry to express his outrage and grief at the horrors in Palestine. George’s concern for the people of Iraq under U.S.-imposed sanctions led him to make numerous trips to Iraq as a witness to the effects of those sanctions. At home, he advocated for their lifting through writing and public speaking while raising funds for Iraqi families. George appreciates hearing from readers and he can be reached at [email protected]

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Let’s meet up at The Dorchester,

that posh hotel in the heart of London.

Afternoon tea is the talk of the town.

Damask table cloths, linen napkins,

impeccable service, and a pastry cart

the envy of any Michelin chef.

And don’t forget the spa

where guests are pampered to perfection.

Can’t you just smell the restorative balms

and the pleasantly scented atmosphere

designed to induce tranquility

in the absolute absence of despair.

I mean, really, who wouldn’t want

a good steam then a facial

with an organic skincare cream

made with seaweed from Scotland’s

purest coastal waters.

What are the chances

we could persuade management

to authorize a continuous open house

for the cold and hungry citizens of Gaza

who have endured months of continuous sadism

cleverly sold as “self-defense”?

They could use a break, don’t you agree,

and a taste of the good life

once the bombing and the shelling

stop.

Not all of them at the same time

of course, but in stages

much as the hostages

are being released

in stages

before returning to open arms,

hot meals, a warm bed,

and all the comforts of home

in the sparkling hands of Israeli towns.

I know what you’re thinking:

The logistics will be a nightmare

without a government buy-in.

And given the role of the U.K.

in underwriting the genocide in Gaza,

why not try to enlist its support

in this far worthier cause —

providing respite and renewal

for a besieged and traumatized people.

Think of this as a pilot program.

If a day at The Dorchester lives up to its promise,

we could approach resorts, spas, wellness retreats

in countries that so generously endowed Israel

with the means to continue the slaughter,

and offer them an opportunity to redeem themselves.

Well, maybe not redeem, but at least

pretend to have a stake in humanity

and not just the one they stuck in the heart

of Gaza.

Who’s to say it can’t be done.

Imagine, thousands of families

whose lives have been shattered,

whose homes have been obliterated,

whose loved ones have been slaughtered,

coming to London, to The Dorchester

in small, self-selected groups

for piping hot dishes

served from gleaming silver tureens;

stacks of freshly baked bread;

urns of cardamom-flavored coffee;

platters of seasoned rice;

and for dessert strawberries from Provence

with fountains of warm, dark chocolate.

Then a generous measure of indulgence

in The Dorchester’s luxurious spa

where skilled cosmeticians will apply

a patented vanishing cream

to faces bruised and slashed with sorrow

from experiencing the full-bore cruelty

of Israel’s merciful, God-blessed military.

And finally, the cherry on top:

a deep tissue massage

penetrating layers of suffering,

smoothing away lacerating memories

till nothing remains but

a radiant sense of well-being and peace.

It’s the least we owe them, don’t you think — the people of Gaza.