In the House down the Block

 

In the house down the block,

 

Surrounded by

With the mildewing,

Cracked slat plywood,

White picket fence,

With the rust crusted,

Hardware cloaked its,

Desolation with,

Brown and black Ivey,

Which once-shown green.

   

 

In the house down the block,

 

The brick both faded,

And multi-colored,

Coming with decades,

And multiple coats,

Of unmatching paint.

 

 

In the house down the block,

 

Is a place where

A family of nine live.

 

 

In the house down the block,

 

Is the father who traveled

Throughout the world.

Spending time in;

Korea,

Vietnam,

And Cambodia,

And,

Lastly,

In a large black bag,

With a

Heavy-duty zipper.

 

            

In the house down the block,

 

On the mantle-piece

Above the fireplace,

Is a gold-colored tin box,

With a small

American flag

Glued to its lid

Containing

A black and gray powder.

The flag with the

White strips lined up

Horizontally,

As if on a gun rack

Or

Linear headstones

Caressing the lawn

At Arlington,

With the red lines of

Blood dripping from

Each weapon.

The stars as if

The innocent twinkle,

In the eyes of youth,

And the deep blue backdrop,

The realities that is war,

With its fear, hate and death,

Senselessness,

Overcomes the,

Individual psyche,

That of each child-now warrior

who died becomes a part of the night’s sky.

 

        

In the house down the block,

 

Are the two sets of twin boys.

One set, Steve and Jim,

Steve set off to see the world,

Kuwait and Jim,

The financial whiz kid,

At the World Trade Center,

In New York City.

Steve is in the same,

Box as his Dad,

Sharing space as they

Shared their

Respective

Departure

From this planet.

Jim is a part of the

Brick and mortar

That is now the

Monument

That was once

The two, adjacent,

Buildings

In New York City.

     

 

In the house down the block,

 

The second set,

David and Eddie,

David loved cars,

He had a ’55 Chevy

Rebuilt, stock and in

Pristine condition,

He is now sharing

Eternity with the

Crankshaft of a Humvee

And parts of an IED

In the desert of Iraq.

Eddie, loved flowers

And poetry and art,

And a boy named Joey,

Unlike his father.

His mother heard

That he was laid to rest

In a cold open field

In Northwest Canada

By his one true love.

 

                            

In the house down the block

 

Are manifested,

The misadventures,

And hypocrisy,

In the Cradle of War,

The new Roman Empire,

That is the

United States.

The battlefield

Being

The entirety of the planet,

And it should be,

Down our own streets,

Or

More-over,

Not at all,

Soldiers,

Volunteers,

Of the selective service,

Pilgrims of

Christianity,

Missionaries

Of

Capitalism.

 

 

In the house down the block,

 

Is his oldest daughter who

Looks just like his wife,

And lives in

Guilt-laden

Solitude.

 

    

In the house down the block,

 

She prepares

To bury her mother,

In the backyard.

 

In the house down the block.