The infused vein blackens.
The shallow breath falters.
It is time for the third civil war.
An end without mourners,
A count discounted.
Three tallies.
Morgues fill up with expendables.
We segregate the recyclables
From the garbage without pedigree.
The end FaceTime-ed,
A pavane unplayed, voices unheard.
In this the third civil war.
The rebels of the first
May have lost some monuments
But Tara’s myth remains.
Where is Lincoln
Who might lead us calm
In Uncivil times?
The second war punished the margins
We lustful sinners
Best forgotten vaccine-less.
Where is the cowboy
Whose voice could not be sullied
By the disease’s name?
The third flashes a serum
Too late for the unimportant
But only if the profits tote.
We listen speechless to the humorless joker,
The impaler without empathy,
The hollower in chief.
Line up the soldiers;
Campaign again
If time let’s us run another race.
Brady stages Chancellorsville
The sarcoma are warded apart.
The ventilators head off suffocation.
The privileged remember all the wars,
Choose up sides,
Stage their battles.
Their recruits have guns.
Of course they do.
Privilege must arm itself.
We quarantine safe at home,
Away from the expendable,
These immigrants who never will matter.
Now is the time for reconstruction
But instead we choose up walls
To fight mock pageants.
We are not good at following maps.
We cannot stride down the road,
We are trapped route less.
We pretend we want strong men to lead.
Generals uniformed.
Actors who play heroes.
Failed men who ape decision.
A stark question is asked.
As the clock runs awry
Three quarters have passed
Noon strikes quite high,
In the third civil war that may be the last.
