Children Find Questions

I cannot walk here, an Ak47 points
to my head

	Though I’m one of the lucky ones -
I have not been tariffed off this shelf

	I still have a job and 500 dollars to my name
I have food
I have water & her eyes are flints of chipped blue
asking the flaccid wind-sock why it is so grumpy

When I lived in Egypt, barefoot kids would steal
bottled water out of our jeeps and then throw
rocks at us while laughing 
Their brown skin, smooth as
a lie, told until it is truth

How is your cancer?
                                        Have you given it a name?
She gazes up at me through a Van Gogh sky squinting

Here in the sand, dry as rewritten history, skulls
stare at us
 
When I lay down motionless on this beach, old before
the first Pharoah, an army of scavenger crabs encircle
me – studying each rise and fall of my chest

	They reach closer, like the smallest hands begging questions
for meat

	Which mark on the stone wall is the last flood?
Her chips of blue, puddles of light in innocent inquiry

	Which mark will be the next one?

Children find questions more interesting 
than answers
 	
	Adults find blame 
more interesting than anything