—The wood is bare, and shadows break
Shallow frosts across the lake.
December’s melancholy joy, 
Birth and death are here alloyed.
This asphalt seam, extruded from the vale, 
Turns us out beyond the hill.

The years of rubbish strewn along
Roads of a domestic wrong
Remind us of the journey’s rites,
Indulgencies, appetites,
But who will ask us if its worth
The hidden cost of setting forth?

Who will stop to clear the side
Now the spectacle provides
Obligatory penance for
The vanquished of a local war,
Keeps the reprimand in view,
Keeps it known we are complicit, too?

Retribution must, of course, be seen
Lest punisher appear too keen; 
Thus designated orange men
Assume positions on the chain,
The lives they stand convicted of
Abhorrent to the land they love.

The narratives of history
Like every naivety
Show up, every now and then,
The assumptions we maintain. 
Poverty always was a crime, 
The impoverished are always to blame,

For who among this meager crew
Hacking through the roadside slough
But for politicians fawn
And rage, could have merited the shame?
We have seen those suits before,
Know their hateful modern lore,

Seen them on the t.v screen 
Called deplorers of our dreams;
Felt, maybe, our own indignity 
Thus captive to security,
Gave pause enough for the report,
Blew the smoke, and had our sport. 

No longer prisoners of war,
Goggled, caged and gagged, bent over,
Earphones clamped around their head
Till we’re sure that they are dead
(And they would doubtlessly agree 
Were this their only agony)

Its not that we don’t see the sin: 
We’ve changed the category they’re in. 
Will Unlawful Combatant suffice
To mitigate this brazen vice,
To damn them all in expiation
For our vulgar absolution?

No reason suffers to be known
Suffice the gruesome footage’s shown 
Nor scrutiny allowed to rear
A sober head throughout the mire;
Ready sights maintain with ease 
What culpability they please,

Law looks on like cupid: blind;
Nor seeks for trouble lest it finds,
Nor troubles to discern at all
What is utterly obvious to all:
Indifference always thinks it’s free,
To malice, or effrontery.

The partial law is rendered moot 
Now martial code lies destitute.
Turns our reluctance to forgive 
To history’s imperative,
And kindness, dignity foregone,
This crude priority is born. 

The easy conduct of the free
Validates every policy
And ancient rights of every class
Solace in a final grimace: 
Never made for destination 
This road is our incarceration.