Butler Pennsylvania 46

It Is For Us the Living

In our cemetery in late August
faded flags stand at spiralled ease
guarding flat bronze markers
embossed with name, unit, rank
and places like Korea, Vietnam, France
and as of late, Afghanistan and Iraq
all wreathed by scorched grass cuttings.

But not even homage of this kind
withstands faint random breezes
that sweep it aside,
while those worn sentries look on,
too feeble to brandish
their stripe-like swords.
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