I had a poem ready, a light-hearted ode
To identities I'd rather have,
And lives I'd like to live.
But in hindsight seems insensitive,
Simple references to machines of war,
Turn from what was implied.
Because the inference is the key
And right now such things are taboo,
Not from some self-important sense of justice,
but because of the nightmares we're about to live through.
I can only pray;
Wishing this isn't what we are.