‘H’ STANDS FOR ‘HOSPITAL’
Who wins a war is always a moot point
or perhaps an oxymoron,
since no-one really wins a war,
each side leaves the field
wounded
either by braggadocio
or humiliation.
We are meant to admire generals
who deal with death and destruction,
victory and loss
and when they return
they display battle scars and medals
but carefully wrap themselves
in the flag
to conceal the deflation
of the massive erections that
helped them lead armies
and sustain a virile stance.
In civilian life, people are all things,
happy or depressed
ambitious or oppressed
health-nuts or obsessed
with their allergies,
and now we are asked to admire
those who own large amounts of money
and entrust our future
to their expertise.
I have even heard that a very rich man,
no, a very very very rich man
is giving some of his wealth
so that all disease will be eliminated
from human life.
He must think we will live decades longer
and does not envision
that eventually
we would die of boredom,
This reminds me that recently,
touched by a sickness,
I looked out a hospital window
and saw an asphalt tarmac
clearly marked with a large yellow ‘H’
and I thought it meant,
‘This is a Hospital! Do not bomb!’
and was later told that the’H’
stood for Helicopter,
an emergency landing site
So in one small mind
as well as in the vast terrain of the Middle East
once again,
mercy succumbed to mayhem.
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ABANDON
If I bury my head in a pile of leaves
some of them catch
in a tangle of hair
leaves crackling
hair so soft.
When I drag my feet through a muddy puddle
black footprints follow
with me unaware
leaves rustle
hair swung aloft.
Then the sky does a trick and turns upside-down
unruly hair
sweeps out and around.
leaves scatter
and cover the ground
I send out squeals that make the air ring
I stick out my legs. . .
A child on a swing.
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Daphne Sola is an artist, poet, and former art gallery owner. She lives in upstate New York.
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