BLACK OPS.

AN OLD AGENT REMEMBERS HIS LIFE.

Bill knows all about
Black ops; he’s been
Involved in many; hush
Hush stuff. Knew about
The JFK snuff. Watch

Your back, Bill, old
Friends said; now most
Are dead, but Bill’s still
Around, keeping his nose
Clean, his eyes keen, his

Brain alert. He knows
Things are going on; he
Reads the news, hears
Politician’s doublespeak,
Reads between the lines.

His mother bathed his
Grazed knees, kissed
His bruises, covered up
His lies, prayed for him.
Never understood him

Not even on her last day.
He visited her in hospital,
But wouldn’t stay; said it
Was best for both of them
That way. The American

Dream; what a laugh, he
Muses, standing in the
Doorway, watching for
The cab, remembering
Mexico, the dark ops

There, the way it went.
Nice place that, except
For the reasons sent.
He knew headlines
Were falsified; lies

Were spread. Knew
Why Kennedy got it
In the head. Years pass
By, he sighs, most people
Forget. New ops arrive,

Word sent, politicians
Bought up and out and
Spent. Could have been
Some one, Bill, his father
Often said, could have made

The grade, been at the top,
Crème de la crème. Feck that,
Bill said, don’t want to be
Part of that sick scene, don’t
Want to be a sadshit like them.    

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I was a water and gas man in the Army. I was station in Honduras many times. I deliver gas, water and food to men in the tropics of South and Central American. These men lived in the tropic. Not in any uniform and were cold as you could be. They were USA men with the purpose to fix problems any way they were told. I like this poem. Remind of men who do terrible things for the government and find some way to live with it. I like the ending to your story. A powerful story.
Coyote