B.B.

I am not sure what to say about this poem, except that this morning I got up on the wrong side of the bed. And then I read this. I am sick of these creatures. Men who do not appear in uniforms are not Gentlemen.


Nor am I quite convinced they should enjoy the rights to fair and decent treatment which law abiding Gentlemen enjoy.


Fortunately, I am not in charge of our rules of engagement.


Big Brother


At last, his day of liberation came:
Each true believer wept, as he rejoiced;
The doubts the dead consistently had voiced
Disappeared in silence. All the same,

The eyes take time adjusting to the light:
While irises instinctively comply,
Expanding at the thought that one might die,
Other muscles may not be so bright.

You look so naked without uniforms.
I find your informality a relief:
If you young men are chilly, I believe
I might be able to locate some arms

Willing to embrace you. Though, I fear,
The price of that embrace may be severe.