poem
adults are dead or dying
but of the children
say only this:
they have ten fingers and toes
each of them
and brains.
or a brain
or a mind
or the thin meta-membrane
that connects the two:
instigates
neighborhood games
captures red bandanas
touches dry ice
on a swelter summer day
calls up
hurricanes in the gulf
and licks oil
from the gash
in the planet’s skin.
say only this
of the little ones:
they have popsicle stains
ringing round their lips
and tough teeth
and burns on their fingertips
from the block of CO2—
each of them touched it
in turn
and told the next kid in line
to step up and
just do it already.
