he red tide rushes to the ravaged beach
Spills over broken bodies and machines
Of war, sprawled like grotesque marionettes
Eyes gaping to a pitiless sky.

Amid the acrid smoke, mines spew noise
And death; bodies lie like petals
Flowers, never knowing compassion's sun.

On a steel girder, in the harsh water, Bobby
Parent stretches for the last time
No more Passaic girls to chase, or
The warmth of bars to welcome him.

Dewey Chaves, floats in the angry water, far
From his beloved Tennessee hills, an eternal
youth
The tapestry forever.

Bob Lynch, of Camdentown, his body
Torn by machine gun fire, will miss the
Two dollar window; all bets are off
Except infinite ones.

Rough tarps now cover bodies made for better
things:
For a child's laughter, a woman's soft flesh,
For the wind's caress on a bright June morning.


   

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