The Best and the Worst

The best part of a hopeless war is when it begins. Under new helmets the hapless and the brave are trained to die far away from patriotic eyes. Mothers are sacrificed to blood oaths, the news is all good initial reports, thrilling. The worst part of war is its ending. Those that come home march dead-eyed behind ghosts. They live now, as if on a rifle range, firing at undying memories. In a newly edited past bugles rally. flags fly. The violence moves on. Beneath a movies-screen golf course, the war still chews upon a few salvaged bones, though now unseen, beneath well-kept greens.