There, in the great outdoors, where beauty’s the rule
Is a meadow with cows and the blue bulges of Friesian
Draught horses grazing at their shaggy hooves; two
Goats jousting for a kid’s pant-leg pumping the pedals
At the edge of the road. Inside the box of doom
Schools get built and bombed in due course, molten
Projectiles penetrate bodies, get swallowed by the ones
Who deserve at least a note of thanks for giving up the ghost
For us: their kids die in parts, not with blood-stained
Knees, or crying to spend it as they see fit—
(Daymare: cows and goats on the loose I ride
A big blue horse on the lookout for kid-like targets.)
I don’t see how it can continue. I don’t see how.
I want to wake up at the window and see something good.