As I walk into class,
I hear them protesting,
“We don’t need to be there,”
“We just want a fight.”

but I say nothing…

As their voice and conflict rise,
in mass pandemonium.
I want to retreat,
But I can’t . . . I need the class,

so I say nothing…


I want them to realize
that we can’t extract our troops.

Don’t they remember 9/11?
the attacks on London?
the Christmas-day-bomber?

What about our soldiers?

Their sacrifices,
their dedication,
their choice.

Their choice
to leave their families,
not knowing when or if
their intestines will be
spilled over the desiccated desert wasteland.

Our troops choose to patrol
in bullet-riddled Humvees,
where they wonder when or if
their bodies will be mixed with twisted metal.

So while I listen,
baking in their words,
like soldiers in the scorching heat,
I say nothing...