Children Are Not A Protected Class

Sitting in the dark with heartburn
wondering about dopamine
an open bottle of wine couched in
a running shoe

I'm trying not to think about
the children of Gaza
their silent recriminations
a scolding line of brown and crimson
soft rubber bodies, faces smudged obscene

What must they be thinking?
those with brains still in their heads
staring up at the moon ,
those with eyes remaining ,
a slim and perfect crescent
ground to two sharp points
over watching the streaking F-16s
and the rocket rain

Why do you hate us?

Today something happened
that made me remember
a portion of last night's dream

They are sitting in a van
waiting to converge upon me
and I sense it

I remember why I didn't
want to let her
go to the mall
in the first place

Put me
in a small room
now and
close the door