Beneath our undeserving feet,
the ground bulges with
heroes and saints.
Thus, Death is the magic portal
transforming every casualty of war—
no matter if the fight was fought
Or putrid ochre. Or simply blue.
Or whatever color most vividly
communicates surrender.
We could have been on a spacious
beach in the Seychelles or sitting in
the silence of a large movie theater
waiting for some picture to appear
on the screen staring blankly at us.
Scratched on the men’s room wall at
Major Nutmeg’s Lonely Hearts Pub,
this priceless gem:
Every man is only what
his mother allows him to become.
It’s not lost on me that,
in a less-enlightened time or
just a more conservative place,
you would have been executed,