For War We Are Made

Naked ribs of a cargo train
drag graffiti all the way to the coast.
I watch the crawl from the highway,
try to translate the scrawl.

Coffee steams from a paper cup
clutched at the wheel.
There’s a crisis just ahead.
I steer clear of wreckage,
barriers, broken glass
on this blighted road that I hope
is a short ride to a win.

But I can’t harbor delusions anymore.
Trust, hope, function.
That all changed when
they stormed the castle,
tore down the banners.
I raged at the ruin,
remained in a constant state of panic.

That was the end of my trust
in almost anyone.
That glory morning made us all
blood enemies.

Carolyn Adams’ poetry and art have appeared in Steam Ticket, Aji Magazine, Topology, Change Seven Magazine, and Beatnik Cowboy, among others. She is the author of four chapbooks, and has been nominated for a Pushcart prize, as well as for Best of the Net. Read other articles by Carolyn.