Look At All Those Dead Bastards Poem by James McLain

Black and white each grainy film,
death rains down from above.
The dance a thirty millimeter has,
each day on non combatants.
Apache's wearing hoods,
the warthogs are for kids the best.
We watched as children on the nightly news
as Walter Cronkite,
I as then knew nothing about collateral murder.
I no longer know what a terrorist is.
I mean well, we like to think the meaning of it is.
Conversations no one had with death if one survived.
Do you wish to know or do you not?
Why a man who's child some strange man killed,
might look at you and crying wish to die.
Better thee than me a laughing shaman said.