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Poem	The clouds and the stars didn't wage this war the brooks gave no information if the mountain spewed stones of fire into the river it was not taking sides the raindrop faintly swaying under the leaf had no political opinions and if here or there a house filled with backed-up raw sewage or poisoned those who lived there with slow fumes, over years the houses were not at war nor did the tinned-up buildings intend to refuse shelter to homeless old women and roaming children they had no policy to keep them roaming or dying, no, the cities were not the problem the bridges were non-partisan the freeways burned, but not with hatred Even the miles of barbed-wire stretched around crouching temporary huts designed to keep the unwanted at a safe distance, out of sight even the boards that had to absorb year upon year, so many human sounds so many depths of vomit, tears slow-soaking blood had not offered themselves for this The trees didn't volunteer to be cut into boards nor the thorns for tearing flesh Look around at all of it and ask whose signature is stamped on the orders, traced in the corner of the building plans Ask where the illiterate, big-bellied women were, the drunks and crazies, the ones you fear most of all: ask where you were.
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