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4th
November
2006
November
2006
War Poem
The glorious body she inhabited
looks lonely without her.
Such stillness is not reminiscent.
Flies feel they have the right to feed
now she cannot fight back.
They gather outside waiting,
reveling in desert heat,
aching for her moist eyes;
still open reflectors
of a ceiling fan above,
chop chopping unbreathable air;
blades that drum drum a dire obbligato,
a helicopter at war,
a metronome tick ticking time
even though she has left,
left strands of copper hair
splayed or stuck to pallid cheeks,
the last bubbles of her smiles.