Headed south across the water
The excitement was mostly over
We’d come to count the bullet holes
And the grenade craters, and calibrate
The eyes of the survivors as curiously they move on by
Just as if nothing had really happened…
Nothing really had
True significance abides within those staying alive
Fighting or cowering, or quivering or shouting back
Chances and choices
For what more could you ask?
For cause and fate and effect
What more is there?
What more do you lack?
And someone always hauls the bodies away…
Life cleans it’s plate
What, or who
Is featured in next week’s menu?
