Americano

—but not that boy
in the corner,

protected from the corpse
faces—Vietnamese

women—their husbands,
children, mothers—

ears strung on a wire—trophies
for his father’s necklace—

or from Iraqis—sifted for combustible
bones into profitable plasma rubble—

or from two hundred thousand—
Afghan winters—emaciated

starvation statues—icicles
with horrified pupils

that fully dilate to capture—
they howl—always they grope

to capture a fading light source;
wars are vicious poets.

Song: “There is a War” by Leonard Cohen

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