Salute! Sirens!
Sanguine individualists in cafés sunlit.
Blood and bells! Belittling
French flags
stem flacid out of a crusty piece of
flan.
While his brother´s mother was bent over,
washing war medals with her tears,
Good ol
Oscar was dreaming up lines
and tossing back
beers.
He penned his
final draft and
still he could not write
¨When the war was over
the people forgot their strife¨
Working through the
civil war,
for ol humble, lovable Earnest
whose fairy tales of bars and girls
gave smiles to the
sternest.
So when I look to
words alone
to whet my bitter, war-torn thirst,
I remember when the
brutes sacked Rome,
They hung the
lawyers first.