go ahead and slide your fingers
through that child's hair
heavy with blood and regret and thick with tears
and then try to tell me
you think the world is good,
as she lays there
dying, dusty-lipped, dull.

go ahead and tiptoe around
that pool of blood
sitting sticky
covering the pavement your husband lies on
and then try to tell me
you think that all men are heroes,
as he lays there
dying, dusty-lipped, dull.

go ahead and find your best friend
facedown in the desert sands
a shamed soldier,
his equipment resting uselessly at his side
and a giant
gaping gunhole
staring at you instead of his face
and then try to tell me
you think that you're worth it,
as he lays there
dying, dusty-lipped, dull.

go ahead and un-see these things
if you think
America is really worth dying for.