A Few Wars
They’re reaching out to us with their guns.
They must want to make a difference
to someone — it’s us they hail now
as dark super-figures, our values high
on the far side of zero. That’s how much
I meant to young Chipper Miller. He had to
shove me. To hurl real stones.
He was reaching out too. And that stocky
guy who grew out of the night with a knife
in his hand as I turned from the cash machine.
By his ardent grin, I believed
it was more than money he needed —
me as a stand-in, understudy
for his cult-classic role, Damn Little
Shithead, aka That Asshole Kid …
Down the corridor of my dread
he stepped closer like a young soldier
through a farmer’s front door. I remember
my friend, combat vet back from the war
a few wars back. Names he called himself,
the headaches, the shakes. He confessed —
shooting all the villagers was better than sex.