the dead soldiers’ Uniforms are dusty
chewed by the grenade
bayonet, puncture wounded
and dyed crimson, signed in the color of a setting sun
by an unwilling author.
bloated gray bellies
distend the carefully sewn cotton
they are camouflaged
but visible just the same
i snap the picture for posterity
and think of scratch-n-sniff ads
and methane putrefaction
and wonder if a mom or dad
will point at the picture in the paper
with prideful recognition like they did when
their son of three made the post for halloween.
the family will look upon a mouth sewn shut
body smooth and painted
and wrapped in his sunday’s best,
but I have seen the blender,
eyes wide with horror
mouth agape, twisted.
add soldiers, pulse for 20 seconds, cloths on, spread gently on the grass.
war is not a Three Piece Suit.