A sestina written for all of our folk who were duped into being part of that first war to end all wars, that brother-killing-brother war, that beginning of our end.
I’ll have no winding sheet. No head stone. This
Mud will be my coffin and my grave. No
Mourners. No funeral wreath. Just some whiz
Bangs, broken duck boards, spattered blood. And so
I sink. My helmet is my pillow. My
Comrades’ bones have made my casket. This place
Is my marker. (more…)
I should forgive you, I know it, but I
Can’t do it. I can’t forgive you. Still, why
Do I feel guilty? You destroyed our past,
You ruined our future, (you were the last
Ones who had a future worth having, by
The way, thanks for leaving us high and dry
Thanks for not paying attention, thanks guys
For the world we’ve got now, it’s such a blast).
I should forgive . . . (more…)
A sestina written for all of our folk who were duped into being part of that first war to end all wars, that brother-killing-brother war, that beginning of our end. (more…)