This poem, from my book Holding Me Together, developed from three influences: (1) a news report about refugee children in South America, (2) the cover of U2’s album War (you can find the cover image at Amazon.Com), and (3) a definition of the word “ire.”

Six years old,
He watches his home burn,
Watches the soldiers run.

As he eyes them with cold ire,
He no longer wants answers;
He only wants to escape
The games with guns.

His father and brother
Went to “revolution.”
Once people go there,
They never return.

That was his mother’s way
Of saying they died,
Just like everyone else.
Just like she soon died.

Someone else’s fathers
And brothers
Came for “revolution,”
Came for “show of power.”

The boy meets up
With other lost children;
They stay together,
Having no one else.

Their parents always said
“Be good or be punished,”
So they wonder what they did
To receive this punishment.

They wonder about words:
Revolution, power, punish.

They wander through rubble:
Revolution, power, punish.