We are America. <br />We are the coffin fillers. <br />We are the grocers of death. <br />We pack them in crates like cauliflowers. <br /> <br />The bomb opens like a shoebox. <br />And the child? <br />The child is certainly not yawning. <br />And the woman? <br />The woman is bathing her heart. <br />It has been torn out of her <br />and as a last act <br />she is rinsing it off in the river. <br />This is the death market. <br /> <br />America, <br />where are your credentials?<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-firebombers/