Poetry

Your body lies shattered on the veldt
in the long rust brown winter grass
where you are almost devoured
and half burned
where you did fall out of a battle tank
when that deadly projectile did hit
and the blue sky, the wind that blows lightly at times
now has no impact on you
and scavengers will bring your bones to skeleton,
where you do have nothing left of life
and in Cuba the great leader will roll another fat cigar,
will draw his cheeks full in pleasure of it
and still your wife will remember you
while life does rush on.