Frogmarched Into the Doldrums
If we could we restrain that firth corridor
between our thalassic heart and pelagic breathe,
call quiet to the battle hem
before sending out young women and men.
Instead, we rush the gray channel of steel,
spill out like a fleet upon Armageddon,
eyes wide with the glory of democracy,
hearts submerged beneath camouflage.
Our fallen guards decorated by honor,
stripes of blood and purple shields,
returning bruised by death’s object,
lives frogmarched into the doldrums.
© K. McGee – 2011
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