This Time


no one wants to talk about the war
the liberals weep
the conservatives are impaled
at the dinner table we ask only
“would anyone like iced tea?”
we cannot discuss the front
for fear of creating one

this time
the images are fewer
no twenty minutes of footage
shared with Cronkite

and every night another boy
this time the photos are
fewer, shorter, smaller
caskets not people burning
we must use words
and therefore say nothing

in the silence I hear curses
and they sound like prayers

The Next Rhyme

Etruscan Women