Only A Nameless Genera;
Oh, there are so many many casualties when
We can only talk about
Giants and football, and even now none of any of this
Will survive:
While I and her maybe survived for a month or two:
It was always what I was good for, and then to falter again
Like a really fabulous plane die,
Like a superhero out of sorts, and like the triple crown horse
Braking down again before super time:
And I have cleaned up again and talked to myself before
The broken yards:
And children are playing football and going inside again
Feeling happy about themselves
Down the donkey strips of dirt roads; and even while I suppose
This is beautiful,
Like the failing end of Christmas, none of this eventually
Will survive;
It is pretty in its bloom and it does its time- Alma,
While you make love in your room, and the world spits out
Its jubilee and turns around again,
And again, but even still it is only a nameless general in its
Mass graveyards,
And I am afraid, of course, that none of this will survive.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Added by Poetry Lover
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