Thanksgiving 5

I hear them coming, coming yet again
Not satisfied with former damage done
Mechanic gods unfeeling mortal pain
From whom there is no place for us to run

Running in play my little daughter was
The day their bombs and bullets cut her dead
And I'm a little stupid now because
Of this new piece of shrapnel in my head

My husband is stranger now to me
Spends all his time with other angry men
Discussing in endless futility
How to make our lives peaceful once again

We wiser women, though, more clearly see
Nevermore be we blessed with normalcy