Friday, February 24, 2012


State-sponsored forgetting. The land was clean
and tidied by rage and green as the spring could make it.
The partisans held missiles of stone in each hand,
the smaller boys sometimes just one. But they will grow.
The fuckers one town over had disgraced themselves
and insulted the air with their songs of sociopathic
local glory. No decent people could be proud,
could think themselves so human, they who
insult our daughters with false mouths
and the hands of their terrible bodies.

The border is invisible, no actually,
a barbed-wire fence runs near it. Our town
wrapped itself in it to better stop the thought,
but the cattle then wandered to every province,
and I thought of the time I'd woken up
to find my lover alone at the television
dressed in flames and telling me of the weather.