The
breeze took his white surplice,
Waved it like a girl's
frock,
Whistled through his greying hair
And touched
the nation's flag
Draped on a young man's coffin
Polished
to beauty by a craftsman's hand
And waiting in the silence by a
grave.
The flag rippled like flags might
When a cold
wind from nowhere touches them,
The small crowd, mother's tears
and father's grief,
Nod at words that never should be said,
And
the child, tousle-headed boy,
Wonders in the wisdom of his
youth
Why the God the surplice-man whispers of
And the all
the magic at his command
Let the damned thing happen.
Let
his daddy die, let his blood leak out,
Let his flesh get mangled
like flesh is
When bullets tear through it,
Let the tall
soldiers bear the coffin
Slowly like they did as if death is
slow
When he knows how quick it came,
Why didn't that
spirit in the sky
Lean down like spirits can
And catch the
bullet in his teeth,
His magic teeth like gods have…