WAR: I Dreamt of a Big Headed Baby (draft)

I dreamt of a big headed baby
a toddler already learnt to walk
old enough to understand
 and do as its told
but not enough to talk
I saw a picture in my head
 babies crawling on the ground
on leashes like dogs
 being led into a fog
families of the disappeared
taken and never found


All in a row, babies lined up like ducks
semi-automatics across their backs
pistols in their hands drool on their lips
 and soft pink kevlar jackets

I heard a story from Bobby once
I believe it so it's true
 a covert mission, a bus, a compound
soldiers ordered to close their eyes no visable will to denounce
 it's true
mothers' breasts sliced off and thrown in mounds
of babies skewered on metal forms
al sheron condemened his Israelites
another shamed secret found
from the book of torn


In Vietnam the average age was nineteen
 sent to wage a war on man
but the Vietcong were smaller
  the tunnels the height of which only
wee babies there could ran,
 they are the width of hips
the traps all set to provoke and poke
and spike and maime and spit
A baby blows bubbles whistles and laughs
oblivious of his shit
Happy to sit in poo while somewhere
 someones elses son rubs his hands and points
and whispers I want you too