The infants out playing
With dirt, scabs, and purple bruises:
No one learning from the other

Somewhere where they’ll be accepted at home
They stalk the midnight sounds
Hoping not to be found at hide and seek.

Wondering why they left their home,
To become heroes or much adored?
They staggered out their door with their heads held high

Wondering if they’ll ever see their house again;
With their mom and sister and baby brother
Their letters pleading and crying for them:

They walk along their playground,
Hoping not to lose their toys
All of them with the faces of young boys

Playing in the sand box
Ducking their heads to avoid angry looking kool-aid
Looking at their buddies laughing upside down,

Looking side to side and seeing their brothers being eaten by mud,
Wondering if they were dreaming of up above
Pulling themselves together to stay awake

Their hands are died in red,
And their faces splattered in mud.
Sore from playing games on the open road.