My son marched against the war,
a seven year old,
a lover of freedom,
asking if we’d go to jail
for our dissent.
I tried to explain
the First Amendment
in seven year old terms.

My son marched against the war,
a seven year old,
a lover of people,
carrying his sign,
“Children are my friends,
please don’t bomb them.”
I tried to explain
collateral damage
in seven year old terms.

My son marched against the war,
a seven year old,
a lover of answers,
full of “whys” in his hunger for reason.
I tried to explain
the oil industry
in seven year old terms.

My son marched against the war,
a seven year old,
a lover of fairness,
asking why God would bless our nation
and help us destroy another.
I tried to explain
religion
in seven year old terms.

My son marched against the war,
a seven year old,
a lover of safety,
asking if they’ll bomb us
if we don’t bomb them.
I tried to explain
retribution
in seven year old terms.

My son marched against the war,
a seven year old,
a lover of peace,
asking why there are armies.
I tried to explain
war
in seven year old terms,
but that only lead to more questions,
both his--
and my own.
~
2002