A Poem for the Children of the Minab School in Iran
You woke up in the morning, stretched your little arms.
Then climbed out of bed and turned off your alarm.
Put on your clothes, laced up each shoe.
Grabbed hold of the backpack with a character you thought was cool.
Ate breakfast with your family, maybe a brother or sister.
Gave mom and dad a kiss goodbye, told them you would miss them.
At the school teacher takes attendance, marks you as there.
Then takes up homework, class starts with little fanfare.
As you open your books and grab your pencil, a boom is heard, but it's over in an instant.
A missile had struck somewhere in the school, and the bomb inside went off, killing you.
I don't know if it was quick, or if it was slow.
I hope it was painless, I hope you didn't know.
I didn't know you, or any of your classmates, but I shed tears anyway, thinking of your fate.
A child in a school, killed by a bomb, sent by a US plane, to a city in Iran.
And when I think of those who caused this, all I feel is hate.
How is killing other people's children making America great?
