Overdose

to Rick Waldo

"Let them call me rebel and welcome, I feel no concern from it;
but I should suffer the misery of devils, were I to make whore
of my soul." — Thomas Paine

He marched on Washington,
where his medal
joined the fusillade
hurtling over the wall,
& cherry blossoms pattered him
with approval, another veteran
denouncing his involvement in Vietnam.

Big Fucking Deal —
he survived a history lesson,
only to turn right 'round
& swallow the current disastrous lie.

He's blocking an aisle in the restaurant,
feet together, back up & paunch thrust forward.
He's slashing the air with faux salutes
as he whine mounts in volume,
exhorting me to re-examine
my pacifism & dissidence,
to toe the line behind
a failed, unelected oil man
who's blutered an entire commonwealth
into fighting an illegal, self-serving war.

But let the word "draft"
find its way into the mix,
& he vehemently claims
his sons will see the Northern lights
before the lottery can chamber its first round.

What the hell,
he no more wanted to share the burden
than a black-hearted, money-laundered Senator.

It's 2008:
5 years of conflict & the stock market
still refuses to invest in truth or argument.
My tongue wags impotently, although my unarmed ass
would volunteer to stop a bullet for the promise of peace.

It's 2008:
5 years of conflict, & I wonder if remorse
has washed away his first flush of nationalistic fever,
if he could find an American flag big enough to drape
the casket splitting its seams with his conditional patriotism.

— Robert O'Neal