Sonnet 51 – The Body Count
The body count is rising every day.
We keep our dead in skate rinks, dead on ice.
Old men in charge – who mere pretend to pray;
no shits to give, they rolled us and the dice.
We’re all the dead – my brother and my wife.
Thousands dead, more than died in Viet Nam.
Despots chose their money o’er our lives;
those in charge, I pray their souls be damned.
Our doctors and our nurses, nobly haunted,
their faces for all time scarred with terror.
Brave wade in, stare down demons undaunted
All those lives, so many lost in error.
Of thousands, who shall be the last to die
because of evil men who horrify?
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