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The Sandbox

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When we were young, playing in the sandbox,
The adults said to us, behave children
Don’t call names, try not to fight over
the blue plastic shovel, stop throwing sand

at each other.

Now the adults are fighting each other
In the chaotic sandbox of the world
Slightly different—there’s no one watching
But lines are drawn in the sand, to divide. Slightly Different...

But not that different.

Instead of sand, they’re throwing napalm,
grenades, tear gas, nuclear weapons
Instead of toys, the adults fight over
Land money religion... and other things

Things that aren’t That Different.

I have fear, but maybe—maybe me, and my friends—
we’ll try to keep an eye on the sandbox.



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