The one on the left, with the pink backpack,
carrying the C-4, is wearing a headset
under that checked yellow scarf,
receiving final instructions.
The one on the right, with his hand to his temple,
is radioing in the coordinates.
The one in the middle, with the murderous eyes,
his hand in his pocket, has his finger on a trigger,
on a button.
And the other one, with his arm
around the other one’s neck, whispering in his ear,
urging him on. Do it, he says, do it!
This poem caught in my throat. Ohh, such a tragedy to presume and stereotype young children. Thank you for the irony that makes us see.