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Tuesday, March 18, 2008

ENDGAME--

by Don Judson


Go there

The beautiful shirt
The ideals which seem     It's no one's world


II.
Sahel means victory the

Irrevocable dead strung along streets like sacks of cloth  Pitiful starlings
This war
Little bag of God Here at home:     the city   cupped in rain  the mid-

Week morning: sketched trees  a few huddled figures

Just now opening themselves & yet the world is never truly concealed it is
Despite your wishes  no more than the steady

Channeled rain  the dreaming homeless and

There  again  in the morning paper & on the news: Our children   sent
--not with shame
never with shame--Accept

it  embrace
the
fallen  the drawn sheet

  of


Don Judson is a poet and fiction writer who lives in Providence, Rhode Island. His novel, Bird--Self Accumulated won a Bobst Emerging Fiction Writer Award from NYU. He has published poems numerous journals.
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