The littlest boy
cradle of sand
waves gently
erasing the
possibility
of who he could
have been as he felt
the terror of slipping
from mother's grasp
siblings disappearing
their crying washed
out of their mouths
not even old enough
to know of, to call upon
their Creator for rescue
dying alone in the dark
for no one cared
about the stranger
in their midst
Heads of state
argue that they
can allow no more
of "those people"
for fear that they
will taint their pristine
language, their Jesus,
their bloodlines
their precious votes
they are sorry but
there's just not enough
to take care of their own
And Neptune yawns
and stretches his arms
leaving behind another
little boy whose breath
fled before the sea
the stars above his face
the last thing he ever saw
before he became
grist for the media mill
a CNN loop of the day
a FaceBook "like"
a casualty of the
incivility of civil war
and the beams that
are lodged in their eyes
splintered by tongues,
hues and shrines
Romo © 9/2015
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