Old Glory

antidepressants slow the evisceration dulling guilt's knife edge Jim was from Tuscaloosa His remains flew home last year professors applaud sneering ripped knee pants coeds stomp on old Glory old vet asks for respect, no deep breath, count to ten, unclench Homicide bomber seventy-two virgin quest paradise, no doubt Jim shielded a boy Bomber in my AR’s sights too slow, all sorts of fragments We have done our job And perhaps a bit too well Our price tag hidden The wolves half a world away Panting in my ears, not yours 5/30/16 © Thomas W. Quigley