Poetry of Issue #7        Page 33

IN CEMETERIES NEAT AND WILD

the preachers lie buried
in their graves, quiet
at last, so too
the politicians
in cemeteries
neat and wild
overcome by
the unrelenting
tangle of weeds
or silenced in
military rows --
this churchyard
defiled by fractious
teens, that memorial park
guarded by uniformed
men, perfect! --
perfect as a
candidate's
manicured nails;
perfect as the
ruins of a roman
church -- and the days
of garryowen
are not over,
and intolerance
is still with us
therefore when
the bells ring
and the bugles
sound the
emblems of
church and state
will be raised high
on every available flagpole
and the old soldiers
will claw at the soil
for air, and curse
the powerful men
who told them to
fight or to pray;
and new soldiers
stand ready to
take their place
in dull columns

because the arguments for intolerance
and war have yet to be silenced

you see? do you see?
here in this turning soil?
here they lie, buried, buried
awaiting resurrection,
here in cemeteries neat and wild,
waiting for the day
the misrule of religion
is finally put to shame,
and the blood-lust of nations
is laid to rest

  George Wallace