Worry During Wartime
I listen to cheerful bagpipes–a silly indulgence
at dusk, a scissoring
of frenzied buzz, blurred knees, imagined whipsaw
of pleated plaid, swirl of too much
warmth swallowed, my forehead aching
at the sudden undertones
of those other bagpipes, the ones that
line up in plaintive rows, inexorably even
in height of hem,
step, drumbeat–a tuneless
six feet below turned
earth, church on green
or granite, too much warmth
swallowed.
Try not to think
about it. Should think about it,
but try not to.
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Draft draft draft poem for the dVerse Poets Pub Poetics prompt by the most wonderful Brian Miller and the also most wonderful Gretchen Leary. Gretchen suggested writing to music. I have.
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