Parents Mourn a Soldier                                     


            April in Paris
            Or autumn in Schenectady,
            For falling stars and moonlight 
            It’s the same old smooth routine

            No matter how we kneel
            Or even if we topple in,
            No matter how we rue
            Our squandering

            A death is just a death,
            No bridge

            And this, the rag they left us with,
            As common as a tablecloth –
            Though more reliable when hoisted high
            For cloaking sin


            ________________________________________________________________________


            Emanuel E. García, 2014

            published in Truthout