The Money Shot

Like fake superheroes they would swoop
Down onto the chaos
Into the bedlam
Mingling and befriending those with tales to tell
Not saving waving damsels
Distressed and torn
Teary eyed and breathless
But the raw produce of a brand new tragedy
Thrusting mikes against mouths
Lenses against lenses
That's what will guarantee
The money shot

Sniffing new orphans are prime fodder
And those blood stained soldiers with red shot eyes
Men carrying babes in burnt arms from flaming buildings
Hardly a dry eye
Their saviour
A hero
A front page icon
Something to remember the incident by

News readers all chiselled and waxy cross over to the correspondent
Who, also remarkably well groomed given the situation and often high temperatures
Will wheel out some know all or dignitary or important eye witness or even a politician if they're lucky
To give us their take
To look grim and determined
To apportion blame
To name and shame
And say heads will roll

We sit as still as stone sunk into our chairs
Drinks in hand and maybe even a snack or two
Not bearing to look away incase we miss atiny bit
Of the misery and hardship
Of the plight
And the fear
And them running from their hell to the cameras
To freedom
Or imprisoment of the media
That will take them as their own
And use them and squeeze them and bleed them dry
To ensure
That bombings or blasts or fires or murders or kidnap or anything that will make us sit up and look

Will always have the money shot