Twisting turning turvsy slipping
Action heroes carry tiny babies
Black curly hair flops over an arm
Wonderful tears dripping down her
Cheek while both mothers argue over
Who will cook the corn and coo at the child
Though mortars explode about 25 feet away.
On the other side of the screen naked
Tree branches sway back from the explosive
Force and a dozen black birds jump into the sky,
Startled by the off-center noise. The babies raised
Their heads up as one and gave the crows an evil eye.
No one says a word as a skinny woman with a
Black rifle creeps into the scene, pulling her arm
Then her a leg, the other arm, then the mothers
Gasped as they realized the gun was melted
On the arm and not held in it, slathered in thick
Red blood. No number of kisses under the mistletoe
Will erase the vision of that particular sugarplum.
“Fly me to the moon
Let me sing among those stars
Let me see what Spring is like
On Jupiter and Mars”
Don’t twist don’t shout don’t turn away
Keep your head inside a camo-covered
Helmet and listen for more than Dragonflies
If you want to cash your next paycheck at home
More than you want to see the tears stream down
Your wife’s cheeks, looking on from above. How many
kisses will it take to erase that sugarplum vision?
Watch where the deeper curves want to
Take the free radicals after listening to a holiday
Guest pass out spiritual gifts. The headaches will
Start when the whistle blows, when the babies scream
No matter what the soldiers do and even though
Resistance tends to bar amazement, even tears cannot
Tear apart the soft electric underbelly that seethes
Under the stag staged confetti grace.
BillSaysThis 