I sit in one of the dives On fifty-second street. . . —W.H. Auden September 1939

Surrounded by hundreds of combat boots Lined up like gravestones, I’m sitting in the Diag Where thirty years ago I drove my MG ‘B’ onto the ‘M’ And had to be chased off by security police. Back then I listened to Machine Gun stoned in black light. My draft number was 49. I got out with a bad back, 1-Y.

Now I’m listening to names: soldiers and families Who’ve died in Iraq; his disembodied voice Flat, somber, monotonous, calling each one out. A mournful flute. The carillon of Burton Tower Playing now for 13 minutes. High noon. The shadows of oak leaves on this page.

There were no Weapons of Mass Destruction. We invaded a country without provocation. I’ve written my senator but haven’t Burned myself in the square.

In July a hundred thousand invade the town Ravage the beauty and leave. I’m eating sour blueberries from the farmer’s market. My pocket full of business cards from the artists I loved. Like the Rothko-esque landscapes in thick gold frames. The artist and I could have been lovers. On Liberty, packed like Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras, I bought Seize the Day and Dangling Man At Dawn Treader’s sidewalk book sale Where the old crone told me about the boots.

‘Chief warrant officer William I. Brenner 36’

Burton Tower has been playing for 13 minutes now The sun shining on this page. Rising too fast, The moral limits beyond which the mind snaps.

‘Ranwaal Mohammed, age unknown.’

A beautiful woman in a wheelchair, lips pierced, Wearing beads, in black; black hair pulled back Pensive among the boots listens to the names.

The dead accumulate. If you’d have been there You might have been affected forever or Dropped a bomb on a whole city and been glad.

You should have seen the giant Bear Made of Nails Tom Monahan, the Dominoes Pizza tycoon, bought. The farther I got away the less it bothered me.

by Richard Solomon

About Richard: Rick Solomon is a poet and developmental/behavioral pediatrician practicing in Ann Arbor. His poetry has most recently been published in the Michigan Quarterly Review, 5am, Third Wednesday (a local poetry journal) and Krax (a British comic poetry journal). Last year he was a finalist in the Wergel Flomp National Comic Poetry Contest. He reads regularly at the Sweetwater Café’s open poetry forum. He and his wife of 36 years live in Ann Arbor. He has two adult children—and two grandchildren. If you would like to contact him he can be reached at (734) 997-9088 or dr.ricksol@comcast.net.