The War Comes Home

When my Father was young
he worked in a barbershop.

When my Father was young he
formed his ideals in a barbershop.

My hair is long.

CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE POEM


  The weight of
           my hair caved

     in the top of my

head
     said the police man

   THE WAR COMES HOME


 I saw some people on the

      news today

   they were weeping over a man

 named george wallace

        who was shot

 some people were screaming

    you know like bombed

   vietnamese children

VIET NAM POEM


Someday a Vietnamese mother

will walk the steps of the

White House

to present Mister Nixon with

a woven straw hat to protect
him
from American bombs.

what will he say as he takes

     her dead child from

       under it?

Election Poem


You'll know them
enthusiastic lines
scorecards in hands
crying eyes
and faces
selling stock in
lingering mushroom
clouds and vacant
wombs

If I reach out the
wind moves the dust
and alters what might not
happen.

Are we all
to be murderers?

and people will
call them patriots