Heroes
And the rain, again, takes up our day,
folds it into threes, and watches
as the world wraps up its gift,
first at the edges, then centered,
with more confidence and force
than justified. Who will forget
the hollow horse and its stifled
coughs, the stench of men too
long unbathed and drenched
in fear. Or the small girl running
naked, arms outstretched, skin
peeling, her life become a litany
of pain embroidered across
the unfeeling sky. Do not thank me
for your freedom, the mortgage
and its tax breaks, your designer
shoes. We didn’t bleed for you.
“Heroes” first appeared in Blue Fifth Review. Many thanks to editor Sam Rasnake for accepting this piece.
O at the Edges 
Very good! I didn’t expect it to be about soldiers
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Glad you liked it. Thank you.
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The picture comes back to me when I read this, of the Vietnamese child in agony. Have we learned anything?
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It seems we’ve learned very little.
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utterly poignant
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Thank you, Maureen.
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wow. just, wow…
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Thanks, Nancie.
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Robert, this hits on all cylinders, especially here:
“Or the small girl running
naked, arms outstretched, skin
peeling, her life become a litany
of pain embroidered across
the unfeeling sky. Do not thank me
for your freedom, the mortgage
and its tax breaks, your designer
shoes. We didn’t bleed for you.”
This is an incredible poem!
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Thanks, Tre. I am sick of war mongering.
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You’re welcome. You are not alone.
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A pox on their parades. (K)
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Yes!
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Thank you for this. Very well done.
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I’m so pleased you feel that way, Anthony. Thank you.
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