NaPM April 14 2016

[bedeep]

It all began (as most things do)
across the froth of Billy's brew
last Sunday;
a harmless joke about a friend
would somehow see the friendship end
by Monday.

A newbie's innocent remark
was all it took to turn things dark
and painful;
'twas meant to most sincerely praise
and yet it earned a bitter gaze,
disdainful.

Dale tried hard to calm the air
while milo flexed upon his chair,
all tautness.
"Leanne, I only said that you
write just like Maya Angelou!"
cried Thoughtless.

Drinks were downed and pens were out --
such a blow can't pass without
reaction.
Todd joined in -- he knew the score --
soon the bar was lost to war
(abstraction)

Tom and Ella took up guard,
on the floor, the noob lay charred,
and cried:
"I take it back, your vengeful wrath
is reminiscent more of Plath,"
and died.

I laughed out loud.

---

War Memorial

The earth still spits up
bits of war here
after 150 years,
like teeth from a smashed mouth,
broken rusty shards and parts,
unrecognizable, but we know
where they're from.

The final battle line
bisects my butterfly bed.
I buy two plants, put them side by side
in good soil. One thrives and the other dies.

By now the pitiful crowd of ghosts below
have their own garden to remind them
how sweet it could have been here
had there not been
war.

It would be kinder
to pave the ground
and let them sleep.