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UNTITLED In a dust try hut Under a hot red sun A small child dies, Arms like sticks Legs the same. A chest with bones No thicker than a chickens. Eyes wide with surprise And the flies. Not far away A young man cries And the gun he carries Falls away. His eyes also watch with surprise As the sun fades into darkness And the earth turns away. In a bed, With clean white sheets Another man lies, And listens to the traffic Dull, down in the street. He also cries As he dies With roses at his feet. His death is not less Not a soldier Nor a starving child. Just a gay Who worked the streets. Pomona February 1988