No man
Who understands
His precarious existence
Can fail to be
A feminist.
All roads lead from the womb.
Women who wage war:
What have they to prove?
They, like men,
End their days in a tomb.
Rare is the mother
Who raises her little boy
To kill another,
To be the Great King and Destroyer.
The battles of the playground
Are quelled by the mothers
Who teach their children
To kiss one another.
There is enough sand
For two plastic buckets,
And two plastic shovels.
Praise the mothers, then,
Who keep the sand
From being the graves of the soldiers.
