The Sand Hill Review http://www.sandhillreview.org
2005
The
War
the
war is on the table
the
war is on our plates
the
mud, the grey rain, the flashes
the
hole that used to be somebody
is
on our plates
we
have been eating it all along
the
dinner, the wine, the walk under the lamps,
even
the stars
we
have plucked like trout from a stream
and
eaten damp and fresh
the
maple leaves red and copper
in
tomorrow's light
have
been the war
why
we say, why
but
we say it quieter and less
there
is no point in arguing
there
are fresh holes to dig
munitions
to keep dry
guns
to undress and wipe and oil like babies
the
people we keep trying to kill
we
have already killed
everything
is out of date
but
there's no sense in arguing
we
are tired
but
the war is not
it
is having us for breakfast
it
is fresh as a daisy, bright as a star
it
knows it is winning
it
can see the ticker-tape already
the
showers of rose-petals
the
willing girls
it
sees already
a
prosperous middle age
a
professorship, a foundation
no
problems
there
will always be enough of us
whoever
dies, always young enough
however
old, to carry on
the
war is happy
as
we were
before
we guessed it
before
we glimpsed it
on
our plates, or knew we had eaten its hook
when
every gaping fishmouth
was
still a star