Early birthday morning; trusting, unsuspecting, nine years old; Exuberant, the lad wiggled into his brand new socks, Bright yellow, happy yellow, expensive, store-fresh yellow. He was an innocent. He was a big, strong boy, almost grown up; Nine years old. The innocent, grinning with pride, Resolved; his new socks were so nice he must wear them for Two days. Like his mother and his baby brother, The child didn't even hear the Americans coming. He's never seen an American. All he knew was that, like monsters, Like fairytale monsters, Americans kill people they don't even know. In the dusk, in the dust, sprawled on his back, Blood seeping into the baren sand, Wearing happy yellow socks, The boy expired. How proud we all are that we helped slaughter the innocent. That will teach them!