Missed the Wars
I missed Korea and Vietnam,
growing up too slow for the harvest.
Of the survivors,
many seemed numbed,
as if Nurse Ratched
had broken their minds
with a hatchet.
Out of Iraq and Afghanistan
came a lumbering beast
dripping sports metaphor,
waylaying us
with flags and body bags,
If I am dying, still telling tall-tales
I’ll invent a minor African conflict,
a covert operation;
speak vaguely of the missing,
the horror,
my personal bravery.
Insist that they place
a red poppy in a glass of water
by my bedside.
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