Pray for me, Father, mine is the sin of cowardice
For I do not set myself on fire at the White House gate
To protest murder. I am a glutton for God’s blue sky.
Pray for me, Father, for my tax dollars set a banquet for Death
With napalm and daisy cutters and snakelike missiles
That blow apart other men, and their wives and children
While I walk secure along the shore of the tranquil sea.
Pray for me, Father, and I will pray for you.
I will pray for a church that does not decry an Inquisition
Where men are broken and driven mad in the dungeons
Of Bagram, Kabul, Gitmo, and Abu Ghraib
A church of priests who recall Golgotha
As if Jesus and Jesus and Jesus by the thousands
Are not being crucified now by the Masters of War
Are not shuffling home on artificial legs
Are not staring sightless from wheelchairs
In VA hospitals into God’s blue sky.
Pray for me, Father, and I will pray for you.
Commentary 
