The Munitions Workers Of America

Even the best hands of my generation
are guilty of genocide.

At the factory where they make the wire harnesses
which power the missiles and helicopters in Iraq.

The workers choose to be ignorant of their fruits.
Women who raise children, attend church

with their husbands, husbands who teach children
baseball, and toss a football in the backyard like grenades.

Men who barbecue on Sundays, their charbroiled burgers
resemble the leftovers of a car bomb.

Men who gut their catch on the shores of the lake---
the guts which could belong to those women

blown apart at the outdoor market in Sadr City.
The best hands of my generation work in mysterious ways.