the Father finds it hard to swallow
the unspeakable lump in his throat
the crumpled note, stuck to his fingers:
"Your son died in gallant service
to his country (and Yours)..."
and He says He never felt the pain
says he 'put it aside', deep inside
his brain, and never cried;
so he figures he got it down,
ya know, got around it, somehow-- beat
the insane train to the crossing
where blame waits for death
on the rails of a world gone off the tracks
pity the Fathers, all,
cause they know (its a game, and)
just how bad
they have fucked-it-up.
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