You talk like an open book but I can’t see past the ending,
Inevitable, cliche, please don’t spin the story that way,
all candy coated sharp edges dusted with cyanide
taste it, taste it, poison-apple red in the garden of where were you
when I needed you,
back in the trenches somewhere, didn’t you hear the clank of
dog-tagged silver sent through the post?
Couldn’t over the softened wails of a cotton-lined nest,
over lullabies and bouncing knees and spiking fevers
And folded flags and twenty-one guns and
aren’t all men made of steel?
melt a few to pave the roads and take care not to step on any cracks.
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