Day 377

Bodies line the street in Jabaliya.
Children step over them
as they walk, looking for wild greens
to eat.  One of them
sees the father of his friend
lying in the dust, face
half blown off, the one
remaining eye staring up
at everyone who passes.  The child
bends, looks at the man, remembers
how he kicked a ball
down this same street only weeks
ago, over and over, and the kids
kicked it back.  The child
takes off his light jacket, covers
his friend’s father’s face, his neck.
Speaks his name, says goodbye.
Runs a little to catch up
with his brothers.