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 |