A little boy in 2004, he saw his
parents, uncles, aunts, cousins burn
brightly in the desert sun.
He watched them jump and run
and writhe but there was no fun.
They were caught in a mire of crossfire
and bombs bursting and the swirling spire
of sharp metal and glass shrapnel slicing
through his loved ones’ flesh.
Horrific images began to mesh
and he, as years went by, began to plan
vengeful retaliation right there in the desert sand.
He and a multitude of other horror-stricken
orphan boys now lean with a streak of meanness unhidden
call on Mohammed and invoke Allah’s name
to wreak vengeance and squarely place the blame
on those Chicken Hawks in Washington who in 2003
invaded Iraq, a nation they said to free
from the bondage to Saddam
when in fact, they just didn’t give a damn.
It was oil they were after
when they started the disaster
that just won’t end, just won’t end
and the blood-letting just won’t end.