combat episodes…

he’d seen
every
john wayne
movie
and
every
episode
of
cops
his
black
spit shined
boots
set off
his
neatly pressed
military
fatigues
and
sheriff’s badge
looking
totally
combat ready
carrying
the M4 carbine
slung
across
his chest
he was
well prepared
for
his starring
role
so with cameras
rolling
the team
burst
into
the family’s home
shattering
the wooden door
with
explosives
then
flash grenades
to
dramatize
their entry
finding
crying children
mother
naked
in bed
father
slammed
to
the floor
as
he tried to defend
those
he loved
then
shots fired
teenage son
in pool
of
innocent blood
dark like
his skin
radio interrupts
the production
filming
they’re
at
the wrong
address

poison the well…

words carefully dropped
into a child’s mind to hate
contaminates life

 

the perfect video game…

there’s mass destruction
manipulated humans
destitute children
no personal involvement
it’s our governmental games

 

christmas eve spies…

such clever
children
to
subtly suggest
that
the christmas tree
be situated
just
below
that old floor vent
a vent
that
from
the second floor
became
a perfect
christmas eve
observation post
for
viewing
those
unwrapped presents
too large
to
fit
beneath the tree
wagons
bikes
and
such
one merely needed
to pretend
that
sugar plums
were
dancing
before
silently
initiating
the night’s reconnaissance mission
a fool proof plan
until
secret agent mom
closed
the vent

 

course of study…

whitewashed history
pages of propaganda
taught in public schools
subjugation without chains
an embedded enslavement

 

democracy…

for centuries
the box was guarded
its gilded surface
glowed like gold
in the sunlight
but blackened
when night grasped
the nation
no one knew
its true content
although historians
had contrived
detailed descriptions
of
what
was inside
based upon
archaeological remains
but
in reality
those details
were more myth
than
anything
indeed
one had
to
just
believe
what had been written
and
published
in children’s
indoctrination books
those
who challenged
the faith
were shunned
and
forced to live
within
the narrowest confines
of
the city
or
caged within prisons
to
protect
society
now
one day
after the box
had been dropped
a few observant
people
saw through
the cracks
that
the box
was
empty

 

outsourcing…

sunken eyes
blackened with fear
flesh
stretched tight
over
a fractured skeleton
a framework of despair
too weakened to move

or
swish away flies
flies
on
unattended sores
festering wounds
of
war
war for
computer chips
or
more precisely
the resources needed
to
manufacture chips
precious semiconductors
necessary
for

calling out
for
pizza
or
chatting
with
unknown friends
who’ve
been befriended
but
not one call
to
this child

 

 

garland of freshly cut tears…

placed upon the street
love’s silent testimony
dried salty white wreath
left by a grieving mother
oblation to freedom’s god

 

dr. pangloss unavailable…

request for light verse
the kind that warms every heart
maybe about joy
children playing with new toys
nothing about their war zone

 

less than strangers…

every thing they said
has come to lies’ fulfillment
you do not recall
an old wagon ride
round and round all those summers
nor do you recall
whose hands and voice embraced you
some how ghosts stories
have replaced the real events
a black hologram of truth
i understand why
the truth is hard to live with
those crimes of passion
have altered life’s history
and the fools always believe