The Pious Man In Time of War

I always kept myself above

The evernow of war, committed to recognition

Of my own humanity no matter what.  Nevertheless

Hannity and Miles were my bacchanalian buddies

And they taught me to enjoy what spoils of experience

The war could offer, 

A letting go of my preciousness, a chance to swear

Every once in awhile, to recognize the clearness of the air

When it was clear.  But the war was more

Real than we could bear.  It's tear dragged in the 

dirt after us weighing down any sense of happiness we

might experience, and so it was by the time we came to

the cottage Hannity and Miles could stand no more

They burst the door and shot the men there.  Then

They ordered the dresses off the women and forced them to the

Floor under the momentum of their glee while I

stood watching.

It was the sight of hate

the smell of porn without the

Beat

I should have expected it.

This was war after all Hell like Sherman said.  I reasoned

Maybe now is the time to give in

To abandon all hope,

dive into that Dionysian fray, be a part of that moment

dig out the joy with my grimy fingernails.

Life sucked shit and

this was triumph of a sort, wasn’t it?

Standing around in what passed for the truth I discovered a third possibility

I took out my gun and shot Miles in the back.

Hannity turned, alarmed, his pants still down,

squirming on her to get a view

but he only saw the bullet, no more.

Silent, I stood above the blood.

I hadn’t undone a thing.

The two women stunned wretched from

the bellies down covered in death wondering

who was going next

Now watched me.  I took the gun and

Pointed it at the breasts of one of them, the bigger one.

"I never stood a chance, you know?”  I said

“We’re all witnesses to the most unspeakable cruelty.

The pious man in time of war is laughing at himself

He puts his greatest treasures on the shelf

And comes back for them later

But those trophies don’t look the same

‘Cause life’s not a movie, not a football game.

What have you seen?  What have you done?

What godawful things are you turning your blind eyes to?

Your own suffering?

You’re not powerless either.  Here.

I offer you my trigger finger.

Take it and make your own decision.”  

My giving the gun was my belief.  The best I could do.

Her taking it was my prayer

In such circumstances, the pious man cannot ask

A thing from God, but only from humanity

Now she was the one with the choice

And I was free of my belief in potency.

She and her sister

threw the gun away, ran fast out the door

Leaving the riddle behind to wrestle with me

I never saw them again.  I remain.

The questions I might pose

What could I have done

Are academic and disgusting

I wake every day

With the same opportunity

Hannity and Miles with their back to me.