Living For The Past

The Confederate statue looks north
From the square,
Vigilant against the expected attack,
(The sound of advancing troops silent)
Cannon by his side,
His rifle knifed and ready
Longing to renew the ancient fight.
Here once lived slender boys with
Lids low and stiff as oak planks,
Whose lives were spent serving dirt
As their times came up short
And went hard by,
Who laughed bitter and fought
For awhile insurrection's cause.

Now around the granite memory
Treads the living remainder,
Circling the square with faulty gait,
The bulky self-absorbed seeking out
Recompense for historic wrongs,
Ages old now but gut leveled losses,
Imagined by these the neckless
With invisible legs and toes.

An ursine man with a baby's head,
Frail children dodging in the shadows,
A phalanx of overalled mechanics with gritty mien,
Conjoined Millennials of no account or accounting,
All victims yet to be dispatched --
Their gore a salient puddle,
Their screams of loss yanked by their roots.

The shadow of the unceasing southern sun
Buoys rebels against moderation who launch
Thoughtless volleys toward the helpless
While kneeling before the haughty few,
Forgetting that they float above the
Dirt they spit on by a paycheck
And count on God to save the day.

Gathered together in his name,
They turn to sing God's praises
Thankful for his bounty,
As he gives his back to feed
The hungry forgotten.

The maroon and gray --
Blood and powder --
March on around the square
Continuing the reckless charge,
A circle unbroken but
Ending back again in the long run
By the granite lookout
Whose blind countenance
Senses again the enemy
Who won the battle long ago and is gone.