I tell you, Chickadee
I am afraid of people
who cannot cry
Tears left unshed
turn to poison
in the ducts
Ask the next soldier you see
enjoying a massacre
if this is not so.
People who do not cry
are victims
of soul mutilation
paid for in Marlboros
and trucks,
Resist.
Violence does not work
except for the man
who pays your salary
Who knows
if you could still weep
you would not take the job.
Why I chose this poem
Another poem about jobs, loss, grief.
They begin to add up to a plan with hope, to stay awake and to weep.