Day 1,040

It is time now
to teach the children
a song. They’re gathered
outside the tent, sitting
cross-legged on the dusty ground.
Some of the older ones
are holding younger ones. Some
who are blind or bandaged hold
the hands of their friends or siblings.
Everyone expectant. Everyone excited
to hear the first line the teacher
will sing. Repeat it in their small
high voices. Add to it
the second line,
the third. Overhead, the drones
do not stop their insidious mission.
The heat of summer intense, the stench
of raw sewage and rotting flesh
pervading the air around them. Still,
what the children are doing now
is learning a song their teacher
is teaching them. A song
about birds, about
the sea. What else
should they do but sing?