Veteran's Day

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What used to be called
Armistice Day, but there were, of course,
more wars. The photo on the top fold
of the morning paper:
Baghdad, another suicide bombing.
The armored American solider
there to investigate, trying
to piece together this day pulled to pieces
as blood seeps into his boots.
Glass shards scattered everywhere,
a man’s scalp in the ceiling fan,
blood splattered in the shape
a child would use to draw a sunrise.
The tiled wall pocked with human-shaped
blast shadows, like those burned
into the sidewalks of Hiroshima.
No peace here among the wreckage of the dead.
A chair, upright in the floating dust,
waits for its person.

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