Peace, So That

every stinking son of a bitch

can come home
to his lawn mower and rice paddy,
every punished son of a bitch
can return to his father's bedside,
every child of every bastard
every child of a hero of peace
of war
can talk it over with the man he blames,
every woman, mother, wife, daughter
will rise in our arms like the tide,
every bomb be water,
every bullet be smashed into frying pans,
every knife sharpened again
to cut fruit in thin slices,
every word flung out like a bullet
in anger
come back to putrefy the tongue,
every man who has sat silent
beware of his silence,
every rising of the blood
make love to a woman, a man,
every killer have only mirrors
to shoot at,
every child a thumb to suck,
every house its chance
to sink to the earth's calling,
every dead shall have no good reasons.

And we be a long time at this.


--Greg Kuzma