The Children’s Crusade

The Children’s Crusade

You were squeezing my heart
but now I’m bored.
So please,
really, please
don’t say what’s on your mind
Just row, row, row your boat
Michael, row your boat ashore
let those children fight your dirty war.
And, yes, we too were once slaves making bricks
and never finish making bricks but
God, isn’t crusade a nasty word?
We give them balloons
and paint their faces
all of this pageantry meaning what?
Nothing? Remember:
The parsley’s for those bitter days.

Gunmen at Suicide Circus. Playing Children. Sascha Kohlmann.
Gunmen at Suicide Circus. Playing Children.  Sascha Kohlmann. Some Rights Reserved.

A few other of my poems:

If a Tree Falls in the Forest and I’m the Only One There – The Curator
The Golemn on Ash Wednesday
A Sleepless Night in December
Ars Poetica Op. 12 No. 4

So I held up my right hand and I made her a promise: “Mary,” I said, “I don’t think this book of mine is ever going to be finished. I must have written five thousand pages by now, and thrown them all away. If I ever do finish it, though, I give you my word of honor: there won’t be a part for Frank Sinatra or John Wayne.
“I tell you what,” I said, “I’ll call it The Children’s Crusade.”

Kurt Vonnegut, “Slaughterhouse-Five, or The Children’s Crusade: A Duty Dance with Death”

The Children’s Crusade