Seattle 65, or Poem Draft

Union Daughter Peace Poem

The day war goes on strike,
the bombs will turn to pop rocks,*
and instead of dismemberment, the children will suffer
bad dental hygiene and a good sugar rush.
Fighter jets will re-program themselves,
hijack their pilots and force them to skywrite words like
“yuckaputz” and “noodie kazoodie,”
in cloudy pink flatulence.
The day war goes on strike,
spoken commands will end with some term of endearment
so that every war cry matches the march.
Advancing enemies will only be allowed to bunny hop.
or play mother may i. in unison.

mother may i please take two steps forward
(my darling cabbage patch of tenderness?)
no, but you may put down your hand grenades and leave the pins where they are,
(my little cinnamon bun.)

The day war goes on strike,
I will bicycle down California
flinging soft chocolate kisses
from a kindergarten backpack
and call you to say I’m sorry.
Because war is on strike today,
and I’ve never crossed a picket line.

*pop rocks: a candy popular with younger children that features small sour hard candies that make a popping sound when eaten