We take the bad night roads to get there,
highways to be avoided.
We watch the news, turn it off,
erase death with bars of soap,
all the while hearing sounds,
funeral drummers making rounds.
We consider life's unwanted things.
Mothers answering telephone rings.
"He is gone."
Gone from earth
and all its terror,
underground, under flag;
The water in the baby's tub
is a liquid body bag.
No washing unborn children
of insurgents, military men,
all manner of parents not to be
in the catacombed, wasp-stung memory.
Unborn children, prone to war,
consider what they missed:
Envy and pity in equal degrees:
how beautiful, unclean.
Paul A. Toth lives in Florida. His first novel, "Fizz," and its successor, "Fishnet," are available now, with "Finale" due in July of 2009. His poetry has been featured by The Potomac, Nth Position, Piker Press, Arabesques Review, and others. See www.netpt.tv for more information.
(author retains copyright)