— Yet, no one could tend the flames
of war when a boy replayed his short life
as Quantrill’s bullet traversed his brain
& no one tended the slave, drowning
in a night crossing for Leavenworth,
nor the farmer near the Ville of Cold Blood
(where talk of coal-fire rekindles tough times)
& none the young pilot from Chanute,
his name chiseled in black granite.
Aspera indeed.
— HC Palmer
This really has some bite, HC. Love it.