the Guantanamo detainees in their flaming
jumpsuits, their neon beanies. They flare out
amidst the dun Marines like birds of paradise
from leaf litter. We expect the cultured voice
of David Attenborough to describe their lifeway:
This is why they shuffle and stagger, why they sit
nose to the wall. In every photo, as with sunstruck
stained glass, our eye hunts for and appreciates
their hue. These, the Top Brass reprove,
are the bad guys. But how can we believe
this when they unfold as brightly as poppies,
as startling as prize roses, when, gun-less,
they echo the innocent orange-wedge, the carrots
dimpling the troughs of their dinner trays?
[From photos obtained by the New York Times using the Freedom of Information Act]
