Monk on fire

Last night I woke to a screeching owl

and the death throes of a dying animal

outside our window.

I went back to sleep

and dreamed in black and white

of a monk on fire.

I learned geography

from Walter Cronkite.

His compass pointed to

four dead girls in Birmingham,

a preacher’s dreaming in Montgomery

while waiting for a bus,

handsome Johnny killed in Dallas,

Marilyn dead in Hollywood,

body counts in Vietnam,

empty petrol cans lining a Saigon street,

a Buddhist monk sitting crossed-legged

in saffron robes did not flinch

while saying a prayer as flames licked his face.

Huntley-Brinkley could not compete with that.

Goodnight, David – Goodnight Chet

Hello, Nielsen and Dow Jones ratings,

are we winning yet?

McNamara’s Lie, Johnson’s Waterloo,

Malcolm, Martin and Bobby died for our sins.

Nixon held up V for victory.

We thought we ended war

and forgot to lock the back door.

Buddhist monks walk across America

Talk peace in our time

While a mad man holds us hostage,

politicians quake and go on break

until the election is over

Cowards don’t win battles,

but they’re not afraid to start a war.

Can you smell burning gasoline on flesh,

hear Mothers wail about another blood debt?

Hello, Nielsen and Dow Jones ratings,

are we winning yet?

10-9-26