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Waging Peace

Stephen Mead: Deserter

Prove me wrong——-

the charges, the light brigades

too quickly dimmed:

on either side, advancing

uniforms, picked

picked off——-


Numbers ticking

on a work camp list,

names misplaced & then

the pages——-


Letters, novels, biographies,

who will write history?

Snow songs, sand songs, tropics

of green, of mud, an ocean,

these landscapes, waves

singing lives.

Shelter, food, loved ones smuggled,

deported, sold——-


People will do anything, anything,

& I have no more taste

for war.  Mother Courage.


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