Wednesday Poem

—How long will it last?  A hundred years maybe.
Aaah, a hundred years ain’t nuthin, here’s what I’m feeling: we can do that with a Guantanamo detainee’s hands tied behind his back (and trussed to a ceiling). —Frank Yardro.

Del Ray Cross

Here’s my war poem: fuck the
almighty war! I climb the
steps up to Whaleship Plaza,
walking while writing again.
“No Smoking!” But look at this
war and sunshine in the streets!
And little plastic airplanes in
the sky. Coit Tower rising like a
missile toward the sun. Pretty
day, sunshine, a little wind, and
chainsaws. White roses and
tiger lilies. I can’t take it anymore!
So I sit down in the sunshine
with my fucking war poem.