This side of Iraq, I will give you something to remember:
A poster with a dove flying out a of gun barrel,
A woman hugging a boy soldier on a railway platform,
A pair of eggs, a red ribbon, a child's smile.
A picture of a child's smile.
A web site with the picture of a child's smile on it.
A search engine for that web site,
Right under a listing for pedophilia and child pornography.
This side of Iraq, I will play some sounds for your pleasure:
The creaking noise of a bed
Of lovers making love.
The cackling noise of a child's laughter.
A tape of a child's laghter.
A web site with the sound bite of a child's cackling laughter.
Her father who made the web site is in kosovo,
Fighting the war he doesn't care to fight,
Started too late, limping like an anorgasmic penis.
The sound of his voice cracking with fear before his flight,,
The sound of death following, a requiem.
This side of Iraq, I argue with my Russian friend,
I paint white flags with blue circles,
Watch television with weary eyes,
Both sides.
Wrong, and right,
Since thirteen hundred.
Always killing,
Always running.
And this side of Iraq,
I stop my car by the gas station and
complain about The gas price.
I watch the blue sky and
Cry about smiling children.
