What Has Not Happened Here

But this is not the field the soldiers took with so few losses.
   Prophets never stop
beside the well sprung from the garden hose. A snake has
   never spoken here,

nor was a martyr spread to the elements or hanged from the
   chain-link fence.
A caesar has not been stabbed by friends under the mimosa.

No one has ever played Kick the Khan and generals, in
avoid the line of mowers pushed on Saturdays. Smoke has
   its signal here.

If elephants cross mountains, they are far away. Lions feed
   on other flesh,
fires are for cooking, armies are plastic and cheap. And most
   evenings we can sleep,

our lives pulled over us like blankets, the wool kind that
   chafes against the throat.