Who should die and who should live?

I think a lot about our men arguing over who should die and who

should live, I think about how they worry about the sky dropping

fire and brimstone on them and all they love, I think about

how they end up sore and bleeding standing on corners, 

I always give them a nod, a word or two, and they look at me

through swollen unforgiving eyes; what more can I do?

Will it matter who I vote for? Will the killing stop?

I'm recalling my own pops, who served both in the Navy and Army, 

from l17 to 40, even though his heart is now cold stuck inside a box,

I think about my brother committed suicide when he got back from

Viet Nam,   don't think he ever voted...

I hear them scratching and moaning just outside my reach, probably

patrolling somewhere between the living and dead,  weighed down

by these last indignities. Will it matter who I vote for? Will the killing

stop?