With no intentions or words I begin,
just an idea, and a fear,
I am bereft of any respect I had left
for our “democracy"
I dreamed distantly of someone
that may have been my brother,
He was given the dignified transfer,
The purple heart and a folded flag
I have a microphoned heartbeat
in front of a crowd,
They wait with bated breath.
He came home and
I. Can’t. Speak.
This eulogy should easily utter itself,
I walk away from the mourning din
let me get back to my own safe home
without dead soldiers
without bullet holes in corrugated tin
without these tears and anger
without this oil, money and blood
without this kid-hero
in a shining box worth more than my car.
The bittersweet pride of dying for a country that only seems
to plot to spread
a couldn’t care less- stressed out- economic disease
He was given the dignified transfer
conducted promptly upon arrival.