The Palestinian Boy

He is a child of three thousand years
born before the time of maps.
He is the intersection of the Brits,
the propulsion of the Germans.
He is the deadly solo missile of cynics across borders
He is the memory that does not seek tomorrow.

He is the failure of all who claim to lead him.
He springs from states that neither see nor understand him
sired and desired amidst their endless walls.
He is bred to throw, armed to catch.

And as he encases himself
as he walks across the street
as he gets on the bus
as he sits among the children

And as we watch in horror and scream to him and god to stop

And as he pulls the handle
for all the worlds that war within him
His conscience is clear
he will enter every good man’s heaven
to be reborn

unless we learn to love him

Published in South Jersey Underground, Issue 11.