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Poem	Millions were dead; everybody was innocent. I stayed in my room. The President Spoke of war as of a magic love potion. My eyes were opened in astonishment. In a mirror my face appeared to me Like a twice-canceled postage stamp. I lived well, but life was awful. there were so many soldiers that day, So many refugees crowding the roads. Naturally, they all vanished With a touch of the hand. History licked the corners of its bloody mouth. On the pay channel, a man and a woman Were trading hungry kisses and tearing off Each other's clothes while I looked on With the sound off and the room dark Except for the screen where the color Had too much red in it, too much pink.
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