Bullet Babble   Leave a comment


he rides on his mother’s hip

settles into the curve of her waist

weaves her hair through

the fingers of one hand

child and mother meld into sculpture

art that walks to market

                                                       on both sides of an ocean

                                                       war skins the minds of children

                                                        provides packable scars to carry 

                                                        and pass to unsuspecting newborns

she buys the child

fruit and fish and bread

he counts the pieces of fruit

clever boy she whispers

into his finely shaped ear

he claps her cheeks between his hands

                                                     a newspaper reports that strange as it may seem

                                                         years into these latest wars

                                                         bullets are a controversial topic

                                                         the M855 designed decades ago

                                                         to puncture a Soviet soldier’s helmet

                                                        does not do well at close range

                                                        against smaller-statured, lightly equipped

                                                        lightly clothed people

                                                        meaning the bullet goes through them

                                                        and they may not die

the woman watches the small-bodied

lightly clothed child

and suddenly she is frightened of the breeze

frightened of the rain’s slip

onto seeds planted yesterday

under a different sky

                                                       hollow point bullets expand in the soft body

                                                        making survival less likely

                                                         so barred at the 1899 Hague Convention

                                                         the U. S. was not a party to the agreement

a flash of fear    a strangle of screams

a sleeping baby’s mat is hit

hollow point, M855 or smart bomb, does it matter?

at the market

a woman carries the memory of a child on her hip

her vertebrae ache for the want of him

phantom legs of lost limbs encircle her waist

where are the bones of him

and his eyes

those shining sacraments of trust

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Posted April 6, 2012 by strongjacksonpoet54 in Uncategorized

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