These poems are written in about 90 minutes—that's not an apology, just a context. Some I'll make work later; some will change very little; some will be deservedly forgotten. Maybe all of them.
Sic Transit
Who'd have believed I'd marry an Army girl?
Or that I'd make my living watching bombs
Falling from F-18s? What kind of world
Is this that disarms all my Yippie qualms?
Banks lend me money--thousands! I'm in debt
So deep I'll die with everything I want
And nothing but an unplayed clarinet
To leave the kids--so why no guilty taunt
Of conscience, why no wretched sleepless nights
And red-eyed dawns, no hours staring lost
Into the emptiness, suburbanites
Who've too late come to realize the cost?
I don't believe you'll let me die alone,
Nor would I you were I not old, my own.
I've not forgotten the rest of the poetry blogosphere—this weekend I'll poist a survey of appreciation and dismay.
8:22:47 PM 
|
