There is War Across the Stream

There is war across the stream, I’ve read.
And corruption over the wall.

There is a dire need I’ve seen to feed
the hungry over there —

Perhaps we’ll find it, we Nation, within our purses
to bargain with such backwardness.

To push the inside-out-ness across the pond
and over the bridge to other places

where such sin belongs.

I voted for the men and women who
raked the evils to tomorrow and over there;

to the places that — beer in my hand and
TV crackling — I cannot say I know very well (at all).

To the places so foreign even our shared humanity is
no more real than Landlord Mercy.

Still — something moans inside my conscience
like the grazing hum of locusts.

Even I know there are so many walls, so many streams,
so many lands to skip and souls to sour before

the round world brings the desperate
back to me.

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