MEMORIAL DAY by Luke Stromberg • Cleaver Magazine
MEMORIAL DAY by Luke Stromberg When you were a boy, did you dream that street And wonder where it was? Did you dream Of death in an exotic locale? Iraq— its bicycles and minarets. Its men And their sweat-shined, mustached faces On the television. Women in the hijab, Weeping in debris. Did your temples throb In its dry desert heat? A roadside bomb, Assembled there—in that ancient, wasted place— Scheduled you and others for oblivion, Claimed you, even at home in Conshohocken. We’ve never met and never will, But this afternoon, I sit at a picnic table Under a tree with my brother and nephew And think of you. The street parked up On both sides for a soccer game. Cheers rise harmlessly above the music. Strangers here are less strange. Nothing here is quite mysterious— Even the shadow pattern of the branches On the walkway. This is the life … chop! chop! read more!