Hypocrisy

They are children,
more or less,
playing soldier in the desert.
Toy guns, and games of war.

Strange to notice,
I don't need horror movies,
tragedies and make-believe.
I can't even stand to watch the news.

I used to make myself cry,
feel the tears rolling down my face
and then bury them
in a sleep that came too easily.

Now, well now there is no need.
Turn on the TV, open the paper.
Stare at the ceiling, bleary eyed,
as if each loss was my own.

And it is in a way.
My mother glances across at me,
well aware of what I'm thinking.
I know how she wonders

How can I cry at all of this,
then speak of signing up?
Condemn a war yet want to fight?
Because I have to do something.

Because somebody has to do something.