The Drums
by David Krieger, 1971

They’re beating on the drums again,
the drums, the drums.
They’re calling out the young men again,
young men, young men.

They’re training them to kill again,
with knives and guns,
with tanks and bombs.

They’re sending them away again,
across the ocean
by ship, by plane.

They’re acting up at home again,
the mothers, the mothers.
They don’t want their sons to go again
to die, to die.

And now they’re coming home again
in caskets wrapped in flags
with shrapnel in their backs,
with heroin in their veins.

And now they’re coming home again
with snickers on their lips,
with medals on their chests.

They’re blowing on the bugles now.
They’re beating on the drums,
the drums, the drums.

This poem was written more than 30 years ago, during another war, but it unfortunately seems appropriate once again.