Issue 155, Summer 2000
But this is not the field the soldiers took with so few losses.
Prophets never stop
beside the well sprung from the garden hose. A snake has
never spoken here,
nor was a martyr spread to the elements or hanged from the
A caesar has not been stabbed by friends under the mimosa.
No one has ever played Kick the Khan and generals, in
avoid the line of mowers pushed on Saturdays. Smoke has
its signal here.
If elephants cross mountains, they are far away. Lions feed
on other flesh,
fires are for cooking, armies are plastic and cheap. And most
evenings we can sleep,
our lives pulled over us like blankets, the wool kind that
chafes against the throat.