Stop the Bombing

I am in Vietnam–who will console me?
I am terrified of bombs, of cold wet leaves and bamboo splinters in my feet, of a bullet cracking through the trees, across the world, killing me–there is a bullet in my brain, behind my eyes, so that all I see is pain
I am in vietnam–who will console me?
from the sixoclock news, from the headlines lurking on the street, between the angry love songs on the radio, from the frightened hawks and angry doves I meet a war I will not fight is killing me-
I am in vietnam, who will console me?

A framed print of this poster hung in my living room when I was growing up. I am thinking of Corita Kent this evening. I am thinking of Daniel Berrigan, Denise Levertov, e.e. cummings, and Robert Lowell. My thought does not take the form of 140 character packets.

Why, at a meeting earlier today to plan anti-Trump inaugural activities, could organizers not write a leaflet with coherent sentences?

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