Have A Child, Asshole.

And complain to me about anything.
Re-iterate your plan for I-raq and emphasize
The role my son Henry might have
For the cause of our Freedom. Tell me

How my son might drive a truck down a road
And come back missing his left arm. His sparrow
Armature, grown ten years from now. This arm
I watched sprout like nothing to a wild weed.
That I had somehow managed to string
With knowledge, with muscle. Erased,
From his shoulder down, obliterated for Wolfowitz.
Obliterated for Rumsfeld. Obliterated forever
For an Idiot Ideology.

Explain to me, exactly, how this might set me free.
Come down here and tell me to my face.