the phrase "i like arms" kept echoing in my head, as i
tried to think of a way to explain things to her.
that not all americans supported this war, about how
complicated the situation was, about the hard
decisions that adults have to make sometimes, the
greater good, nescessary evils, the fact that this was
the most ..surgical and precise combat in the history
of warfare - all of the things i tell myself when im
standing in the bathroom at a bar in the US taking a
piss reading the front of the newspaper conventiently
tacked at eye level so that i can survey the news
while i piss and i read that america blew off a kids
arms and a sidebar about how some idiot sent him a
sony playstation. theoretically, rhetorically,
academically i understood why we went to war, and i
wanted to explain what i had "learned" to her. that
the innocent always pay for the greater good. yes its
tragic and uh.. everything, but -BUT- difficult
decisions must be made. that progress is often built
on suffering, that fuck - eggs have to be cracked,
widowed, burned, killed, maimed, mutilated to make a
fucking omelet, and we are not afraid to do it, if it
becomes nescessary. i wanted to tell her about how
the world media had exploited this image to some
degree, about how the casualties were absolutely
minimal, about the vastly improved futures of the
iraqis, about my brother in law, about how what she
heard may not be exactly on point, that her government
and media and educators had an understandable bias
about the situation, that there was no way a ten year
old could use the word imperialism much less
understand the real meaning of the word unless some
party idealogue had coached-


"hello sir, how are you sir?"

i turned around. a boy stood waiting for my attention.
i don't think that i will ever forget his face.