Infant.ry | A Poem

 

-After "Boots" by Rudyard Kipling

We are infant columns parading in formation 

One, two and three steps more 

Tired boots slogging over America 

Shouldering clear backpacks 

The children march to their Doom 

Parents refuse to look at what's in front of them 

They try and they try to think of something else 

Maybe this is their final goodbyes? 

Fathers look on with cold eyes

Mothers hide their fear in silent prayer melodies 

Walk, walk on again, 

Up the hill to the temple that welcomes you 

as an offering

Check the exits, check the doors 

Keep your eyes low or somehow they will know

You fear one way in and no ways out 

One, two and three hours pass, how long will this day last?

Footsteps in the hall 

Moving up and down and up and down again 

Crack crack crack, this time is no trick 

Oh God, please save me from going lunatic 

Count them, count them all 

One, two, three and the bursts of a dozen more 

Bar it, bar it, bar the door!

The men go mad amid the wild Haze of gunsmoke rage 

Bookshelves collapse and the desks are piled like corpses

Please please please! 

Eyes wild with fear now 

You may outrun hunger, thirst and weariness 

But you can't outrun the sights of them

Count, count them all now 

Count the bullets as they fly 

Bodies! Bodies! Collapsing to the linoleum floor 

Tainted with the blood spatter of childhood memory 

Running, running- running now, panicked to the door 

Tile crimson slick as they fight to keep score 

What will this day be if not advertised tragedy to soon ignore 

One million, and a million infants more 

Sent to die in a meaningless war.