The blues were pure enough to drink
Gallons of oil spilled and wasted
A huge delinquent samurai beguiled
My concentration wavered on the brink
A gallant giant waved wild red roses
At us with thorns that bruised our souls when we walked
Surrounded by danger on the edge of another impending disaster
We dreamed about leaving the trenches
Behind us the giant raged on the wrong balcony
And we ran for the safety of our huts
Escaping the blue monsoon that threatened us
Trying to recover the boundary
Wild thorns overgrown with mastery
They twisted and turned in our feet
Pouring our anguished blood in the street
Our images were replicated on the overhead marquee
That stood above the swaying balcony where disaster flowed for free
Searching through bleary concepts treading on blueberries
We rubbed rose petals on our wounded feet
Looking for the answers to the giant’s deceit
The rose petals grew as we touched them
As if ideas could grumble through a storm
the petals grew huge suddenly engulfing our feet
when we realized each rose had lost her stem
And the gentle giant raged no more
He had been beyond reproach
showing us a bloody brochure of what happened
threescore and seventeen years ago
Glumness is getting old as we sit drearily
Fixated on who outfoxed who
While a rainbow of cheery color
Runs parallel a bloody river numbly
for Elizabeth Bishop
