During the protests.

Author:James Matthew Wilson

We praise the clink of dinner plates Stirring in evening suds, and thank You for the snow's settling weight That turns the dark limbs still and blank. A friendly sort of love, this stillness; A pleasant peace, quotidian motions, And in their twilit meeting we'll bless The hour with our iced oblations. But on the screen stream curious pictures Of tanks mobbed in the desert square, Their cannon draped with bodies: thick, sure Men, shouting, hungry--over there. We talk of lunch and laundry, not To plumb the pleasures of distraction, But prudent toward an order that Sustains though not our satisfaction: To train our hunger it gives rest By freeing us of the stomach's worrying. My wife's weight to my side is pressed As we watch what elsewhere's...

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