By Dawn's Early Light
at 120 Miles Per Hour Trailing The Army
There are armies
Armies that fatten on leftover cows
armies so silent and sure
they lumber over the day
unmindful of sweat
crossed and recrossed.
I am trailing the army
gouging huge holes in their water bags
clipping the sharp eyes of their bayonets
exhausting their mothers with stories
of past atrocities.
Someone has to follow.
Someone must nip at the wide black haunch.
They are well organized and have learned
the rewards of cutting
Everything that grows on its own
No one has survived the wave on wave
of their perfect form.
Even the frogs fall game.
The nights are filled with their music;
They mimic the chords and pipes of human throats.
In Kansas City there are people
In St. Louis there are people of knowledge
no one has even begun to care.