With Or Without You

Grab your kleenex and wipe your tears,
Wave goodbye to your firstborn,
Your middle child or your baby.
You might find this suggestion suggestive:
But keep sending your children to war,
We have too many people here anyway.
With them gone you may find more room
in restaurants and malls, colleges and churches,
backlit alleys or bright lit stages.
Finally we have the oxygen we crave,
Now that there are those dying
for an unknown cause and a president who looks
like a baboon.
You may be lucky to get them back whole
in a coffin, if not you can hope that they have
a patch of grass above their unmarked grave.
Send them your prayers and hope,
Maybe they will not fall on deaf ears,
Though the pleas to come home do.