Of War and Irony

sabbath

I feel the irony of life's
Nurturing molestation
With painfully sweet romantic
Rejection
The Weapon driven home
Comfortably
In the womb of a moment's
Passing silence under
Big, green umbrellas
Outside a little cafe
As the rain sotly patterns
On the shiny brand new
Tanks
And thousands of
Armor-piercing rounds,
Stacked high,
Right next door to dollies with
Blonde hair and blue eyes
While puppies yelp
And wag their tails,
Nostrils flaring,
At the smell of the sulfur and
Tears mixing with soot from the
Smoke stacks
As our children pray
For the bombs to cease their
Taunting cackle
So they might curl beneath their
Blankets hoping perhaps this year
Santa Claus might bring them
That new toy machine gun from
Their favorite new cartoon
They saw on television
Right after the
Anti-violence commercial