She’s lying on the asphalt.
Her small belly, her chest,
her forehead, her hands,
her cold feet bare in the night.
A hungry cat paces.
Shrapnel rings
as it hits neighboring
houses already bombed.
The cat grows hungrier.
The cat sees the girl,
her wounds still warm.
The girl’s father lies next to her
on his back. The backpack he wears
still has the girl’s favorite candy
and a small toy.
The girl was waiting
till they arrived
to eat her lollipop.
The cat gets close
to try the flesh;
a bomb pounds the street.
No flesh, no girl,
no father, no cat.
Nobody is hungry.
The moon overhead
is not the moon.