THE ANGELS AND THE TAILSPINNERS... AT LAST LIGHT
(For Jan Homburg)
The whack/thump of the rotor blades
Match exactly the beating of our hearts
As the acrid smell of cordite
And burnt blood assails our nostrils.
In my peripheral vision I see
Cutter ants carrying their green sails
Of every leaf that ever was
Into the womb of their very creation.
How they must laugh at us
As we fix bayonets and go on
To slaughter the fathers of children
Cowering in thatched huts.
American and Vietnamese women
Put on their aprons and take up their swabs
Stemming the best that they can
The flood of death and communion of blood.
Angels of mercy weeping
Over ashen faced men
Wanting to slip into the universe of God
But seeing only the parade
Of the leaf cutter ants.