by Matthew Kosinski

Created on: November 24, 2008

Brennan came home from
the war today,
with a cross on his chest
and bullet holes in his arms.
I had pimples on
my face and some strange sense of
respect for his uniform.

He's fired a rifle,
he's fought with his brothers,
and I've been eating lettuce
and criticzing the government.
Who's the bigger problem here?

I want a wedding, not a wake.
Give me a reason to dance
and wear white,
to sneak wine from other tables
and hit on someone's attractive cousin.
There is no jihad,
and there is no America.
Everything's a lose collection of ideas
without purpose,
crying doves with eagle beaks
and severed wings.

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