An American Father

Few poems, few words, by anyone, since the start of the Iraq invasion, have hit harder than the poet's 2004 pen-stroke, reflecting on his love for his sons and his views on the current administration's willingness to send others to die to avenge their honor. Or, as he has said, "fighting with borrowed balls".

An American Father


I did not raise my child to be
the fodder for your fight,
to be the blood to wet the sands
or prove that might makes right.

I did not raise my child to be
a marker on the board,
my spawn the pawn of brawn
to be the chaff beneath the sword.

I did not raise my child to be
less than those you love,
I did not raise my child to be
the slaughtered, bartered dove.

Tell me why my child must die
to prove that you are brave,
to prove that you are noble
to prove tis peace we crave.

I did not raise my child to be
a number or a cross,
a memory in a photograph
of a loving father's loss.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.