Old Glory
antidepressants
slow the evisceration
dulling guilt's knife edge
Jim was from Tuscaloosa
His remains flew home last year
professors applaud
sneering ripped knee pants coeds
stomp on old Glory
old vet asks for respect, no
deep breath, count to ten, unclench
Homicide bomber
seventy-two virgin quest
paradise, no doubt
Jim shielded a boy
Bomber in my AR’s sights
too slow, all sorts of fragments
We have done our job
And perhaps a bit too well
Our price tag hidden
The wolves half a world away
Panting in my ears, not yours
5/30/16
© Thomas W. Quigley
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