Plastic Soldiers

God bless this country and its guns,

for children play when morning comes

with plastic soldiers, dolls of glass.

I hope my baby lives through class;

I hope we are the lucky ones.

The air’s so bad it hurts my lungs.

My body’s for producing sons—

send them out to war en masse.

God bless this country and its guns.

Though never mind how they’ll succumb—

the blood that drips from bitten tongues.

As long as wealthy have their class

and keep control on laws they pass

that make the people fight for crumbs.

God bless this country and its guns.