Poem: War Plea

Leaders and populace alike ignored this topic during the election season.

Folks, we can't eliminate our horrible karma by denying it.

Stop grubbing for money and get ethical.


OWL

This poem was originally published in HazMat.

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War Plea

don’t bark at me with your
black tongues or spit your red.
don’t carve my name
with bullets into marble.
i was only walking by,
a little angry to find your tank
in my garden,
a bit distressed at becoming a flea
under the fury of your gaze.

let me hop away. i’ll eat
sand and drink stones.
i’ll pretend my grandfather
didn’t plant fruit trees
near your craters.

i’ll set up shop
in the smallest grave
of shadow, whittle
spoons with parched
old hands, and pray
in ways you’ll never notice
that the hearts of my children
remain sweet as pomegranates.



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