some child, on the other side of the world,

looked up from playing

to see the metal rain.


A bullet

fired by a trigger on the far side of the world.

aimed at some real or imagined evil,

instead, came to rest in this now lifeless child.


You and I want to speak of it,

But, because every nation wraps its evil in some sacred good,

we dare not mention the death of this innocent child,

for fear our friends will say

we are attack our brave troops,

or our wise president.


And so, we will fall into the silence of that truth

for which no nation has a word.

And if we speak at all,

it will be in the bleating lyrics of our herd,

in that hideous ape song

we call “patriotism.”


And, as a result of our silence,


another child will look up into the sky

and see the metal rain.