Monday, September 14, 2009

They Do Not Listen


They Do Not Listen

Most people don't really think
about Martin Luther King on his birthday,
they're just happy to have the day off.
Me, I was just doing my job...
killing people.

It's an eye-blink of time between
looking down the barrel of a weapon
at a human being...and watching
his head explode.
In the space of seconds some mother's
child is gone, and I was not qualified
to make that God-like decision.
After the Plains Indians hunted buffalo,
they offered up prayers of gratitude
and sorrow.
Then, out of respect
for their great sacrifice,
consumed every part
from tongue to tendons.
I wish I had that kind
of reconcilliation.

When I got home, the town paraded me
on a fire engine with an obese mayor,
marching me right up to the front door
of my suicide-watch reality...
where I now reside.

I married everyone who I killed
with a bond greater than
what I share with my parents,
siblings, wife, or
Lord and Savior
because I do not think of them
all the time.

I feel best when I am drinking
because I cannot feel.

The worst part is in the still
of the night when I'm looking down
that barrel again.
In my dreams, the bullets float
so slowly that I talk to them...
begging them to miss,
but they never listen.

Cole Eubanks

Posted over on Poets Against The War

No comments: