butterfly

The death tanks roll forward.
We could all be crushed beneath their treads.
Even now, millions are dying.

But the rain fell as beautiful as ever this morning,
the ionized air was new,
the kindergartner squealed in joy and twonged the glockenspiel,
I thought of you and everything inside smiled.

I decide, and decide, and decide:
War will not get me.

Against the wall,
I will admire the butterfly fluttering over the helmets of the firing squad.