Marquee

Every night a well-dressed puppet keeps score of the deaths and casualties of the freshest war. Some nights the tally is low like a soccer match tonight, it's triple digits for the blue-collar man. On the scorecard are soldiers, civilians and children never makers of munitions, or wealthy politicians. What of the wild beasts and dear family pets lying twisted and bloodied in virgin bomb pits. Forgotten in the backwaters of useless battles a last meal of shrapnel and ear-piercing rattle Their names never honored on the marquee but they should be-they all should be.