Introspect

Eleven, Eleven

When serious November strikes deep scars
into chicken soup can Warhol souls
and limping veterans of endless wars
fire salutes to motherhood and political goals,
look within.

When the last of Summer’s fleecy clouds have past
and the gray ground freezes over graves,
when slaves are dreaming “Free at Last”,
and when the chief fails to mourn his fallen braves,
look within.

When you hear “don’t raise your sons to be cowboys”,
or “don’t take your guns to town”,
or when the crying won’t drown the noise
of another soldier stumbling down,
look within.

- Ralph Murre