They’re parked
in that no-man’s land
between Mai Lai
and Kent State University,

their radio cross-haired
on a doomsaying voice
of an implacable machine
harvesting bodies for war.

She presses against him,
though he’s captive
to a blue plastic capsule
poised to consign him
to history’s rabbit hole,

whether he submits or does not,
whether he kills or refuses to kill.

Moonlight bleeds on their faces
while that sanguinary Uncle
culls still another generation.

What can they do but kiss?
Love alone is their answer
to that life-denying summons.
                        

You may keep your head, a clemency
I never afforded your grass-denying ancestors
who spilled down hillsides and hulked
in the recesses of my father’s cattle pasture.

A boy against giants, I met head-on your thorny armies,
slashing and hacking with my keen corn knife
until sunlight reclaimed the good earth beneath.
Bloodied, sweating, I fought the noble fight.

Now you have the temerity to rear your
spiky head amidst my pristine tomato patch?
What’s the meaning of your uncalled-for presence?
If to taunt an old man in a dry year for once-

bold dreams and delusions of importance: proceed.
I’ve slain no giants and righted few wrongs,
yet I’ll stand by my worth, own and proclaim it
though the world sees me as ordinary

as your purpled mane and prickly intrusiveness.
But if to remind me we’re all just thistledown—
wind-strewn opportunists bearing our meanings along,
I take your point. You’re worthier than I knew.