my grandfather
flying over britain
bloodshot
tired to exhaustian
and past
captured
interned as a pow
tied down, tortured
beaten and starved
this is war

my great uncle
a road in belgium
tanks roll by
splashing mud over infantry
onto fences
where ice-wind dries it
blows it into our eyes
blinding
this is war

my father
a jungle in vietnam
hidiing crouched in the undergrowth
as truck carrying the instruments
of mass death
roll through the undergrowth
shivering
sweating

once more into the brink, dear friends.
orphan our children
widow our spouses
and line the bosses pockets.

reading
the red scare
haymarket martyrs
McCarthey hearings
continuing capitalist wars for domination
stop. speak. refuse. resist.
I will not die for your oh-so-holy profits!
this is not war
this is revolution

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