ARE THERE CHILDREN

are there children somewhere

waiting for wounds

eager for the hiss of napalm

in their flesh –

the mutilating thump of shrapnel

do they long for amputation

and disfigurement

incinerate themselves in ovens

eagerly

are there some who try to sense

the focal points of bullets

or who sprawl on bomb grids

hopefully

do they still line up in queues

for noble deaths

i must ask:

are soul and flesh uneasy fusions

longing for the cut –

the bloody leap to ether

are all our words a shibboleth for silence –

a static crackle

to ignite the blood

and detonate the self-corroding

heart

does each man in his own way

plot a pogrom for the species

or are we all, always misled

to war

Robert Priest.

from Blue Pyramids: New and Selected Poems (ECW Press 2002)

Also: 100 poets against the war.
 
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