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Parker
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Rafferty
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Head cradled by rifle strap
Starched white shirt tie-dyed in blood
Starched white shirt tie-dyed in blood
In the soldier’s arms.
A mother waits,
In the streets of Baghdad
What might have been
No video-feed, not a game
Mothers wait.

I will break your window
to keep the moon
from staining it.
I will sink my own armada
to palace you
in driftwood boards.
I will choke
the songs
from a thousand wrens
and stuff them deep
in your pillow.
There is no limit to the things
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