War

They say

“What is it good for?”

Profits for those whose

Pockets are already filled with gold

While those who serve

Can barely afford to live

And their blood now lines

Those pockets

And the boorish spenders

Still ask for more

Vintage

Turning forty (oh so old)

Some may even say vintage

Like songs of my youth

Now playing on classic radio stations

Like playing outside all day

Occasionally into the night

Like going to school

With only the worries of failing a test

Like having peers from Mexico

Unafraid to go to school in America

Like presuming the world

Is a safe place to live

Being in one’s prime

No longer seems a malediction

But a culmination

Of wondrous experiences