The Butler Pennsylvania Poems


Sometimes in dreams I see
soldiers swarming over
the farms
outside our town
surging across fields
and through apple orchards
around farmhouses
and down to the creek
and the bridge
where the road comes into town.

And all the trees
laden with one hundred and
seventy years of peace
have turned pale,
and from their branches
narrow strips of white cloth
unfurl and flutter lazily,
while rabid soldiers
swish them aside
and break open the doors
to bark to those inside
to gather at the square
where they will be led off
to be shot
from behind
in orderly rows.

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