we played war in the basement
with an ancient doughboy helmet from WWI
liberated from my grandmother's attic
and empty ammo clips and many pairs of earplugs
that came from the first television war -
the war that wasn't a war
old red ink from a corner shelf
cloths from the ragbag for bandages
our hardware was an old bb-gun
that never did shoot right
and cap pistols - of course
we had parades in circles around the washing machine
blowing on a recorder and banging
on a toy xylophone with sticks as hammers
I fear we were rather eclectic in our
historical appropriations
all conflicts were sourced for
but movies and Walter Cronkite taught us well
the words and deeds we emulated
Anderson Cooper and Rachel Maddow
and fear for the future of
the precious wee ones in my life
and I wonder how our parents and
teachers did not expire from the weight
so much sorrow poured in their souls
