can’t you just hear the thunder
in the snow, the storm swept plains bumping
loudly with misspent rocket shells, the flow
of the Flint Hills blocked by hard-charging
mounts, more Roman than the USA’s
Fifth Cavalry, mounds of dirt flung up,
and soldiers carrying their dead back
to Abilene for burial, right next
to Eisenhower’s farm, the blond brothers
smiling as their corn fields burn.
The way you wrote this is so much better than many of the poems I have read on here with a similiar subject matter because you actually focused on images more than opinions, which really makes the piece live.
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The imagery so vivid!!
Love Tinka