Wednesday, February 21, 2007

YOUR MORSE CODE OR ... .._ .. _._. .. _.. .


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for dad

I have a gun and could use it

to end my suffering

spare others the trouble


of having to care and then


if in the past I am also gone


then those no-name, with our people's faces,


those hundreds, no, more


did not perish on that

icy cold Korean
ground

covered in white clouds


from the cannons they put in my hands




I murdered and for what


there was no glory in being


a minimum wage gun for hire


my rage at what I did


lasted a life time


though I tried to drown it


in alcohol


like my father before me




unlike him I was always pulled


from the drink at the last minute


liquid claws weren't strong enough


to keep me under, though now


a lure of those voices in


the loss of air and anesthesia


got me in touch with all their souls


who wanted me with them





© Odilia Galván Rodríguez, 2007

The Yucatan Penninsula

photo: http://www.jimott.org/fires/GapIncident/gallery/aug_13.htm

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