Why Is the United States the Most Fortunate Child of the Earth?

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I am in the backseat of somebody’s car

evidence of their lives scattered about

a hotel room key a flash drive

I am being driven toward death

closer to it but it is the same when I

am standing still

in my coat I shrink against the cold

so much space between me and fabric

my arms clappers in the iron of a bell

when will death come for me

for my family I presume it will

be quick it won’t languish coating us

like lotion from a small nozzle

Christians in this nation rejoicing

for death in what they and many others

consider a holy land Christians believe

this war is necessary many deaths necessary

to bring about the destruction of Earth

a good thing in their minds Rapture

Hell for many though not them

they wish to live to see this horror

to praise it but nothing will happen

while we live nothing we won’t live

the car has stopped the stone

pathway is slick in the rain and leads

upward comfort me feed me tell me

I’m pretty my friends hold me against

their bodies little growths on the face

of this nation itself a growth

colorful and flowerlike when

represented on maps or satellite

imagery flecks within hoping for

death on an unimaginable scale