When eating pasta, I see and think...
by JS Schilling | |
In Brooklyn I see young men in muscle t-shirts, flexing triceps and shadow boxing, their waistcloths simmer with the swell of the rrr-rumba beat for their young ladies, But a ticker comes across my T.V. interrupts my dinner, "Three U.S. Soldiers killed today in the war..." I slurp my pasta as the newscaster changes from a serious to a happy, "And later, the hotdog eating contest was a blast..." I look across the alleyway, the boys still play games as old men dictate, why we should, "stay the course." More pasta in me and still I see these young boys across the way, laughing, singing, dreaming, dreaming, sighing, dying... With my last twirl of the noodle fine I think, "No war is worth the legs of these boys, (especially not this one), no war is worth the ignorance of grown men." ~ Copyright © 2007 - JS Schilling Published: 8/23/07 · Author's Page · Next Poem |