Wellington Station

Wellington Station

I saw you across

the commuter aisle

twitching and huffing

at Wellington Station.

I, too, am a loser

in the war. I lay

down my sword.

Set my auto alight.

Left it a funereal husk,

just a memory

to the challenges

of sunny October days.

Be still, my brother,

my angel of anxiety.

I see you gasping,

reading the news,

oh so careful

about what you touch,

what we all touch.

We meet in common

places of terror, our

shared communiques...

Oh veteran.

Oh war lord;

I lay down my arms,

I comply, I let go,

I ride smoothly

into the inner-city

bowels of tension

and glittering dreams.

Then I will take on the attire

of Napoleon's three-pointed hat.

I will curtsy, bend, that is,

into the sweet reflection

of what a peaceful city

wants to be.

The war news is hard,

ubiquitous as pearls and steel

and mobile phones.

My train runs silently,

beneath the stars and stripes

of all conquering heroes.

The Bunker Hill spire

is muted through glass

running by in the opposite,

direction. I descend

down the catwalk

of morbid hell. Silence

encloses me in a weightless

pipe of dread.

I am a monster.

I confess it all.

Just this, please,

after this night,

on the battlefield

of Boston,

will you let me

safely caress

my love, my sweet

daughter's face, or,

anything else I can keep

perfect or sane

for a whole rail yard

of days.

Let me retreat

with my bag of games,

my pen, my spear,

my telefrantic machines.

Let me walk, just one more time

into the target valley

of technology.

And though I will breathe

the very microbes of hell,

through pile drives, tunnels,

lost wheels and poisoned wells,

the endless botched catacomb

of the world you made:

Oh Wellington, allow my return

to Corsica, even Elbe, I will allow.

Where I can be at peace.

With who? Myself, at least,

as I wait for the night

to fall upon your victory.

If Napoleon could stoop

this far into the refrigerator,

he would have become

a suburban monk like me.

~ Boston, Massachusetts,

written October, 2001,

for the commemorative book of poetry,

"Ipswich at War,"

and includes the following two related poems ...