• after every war someone has to clean up things won't straighten themselves up, after all some one has to push the rubble to the side of the road, so the corpse-filled wagons can pass some one has to get mired in scum and ashes, sofa springs, splintered glass, and bloody rags, some one has to drag in a girder to prop up a wall, some one has to glaze a window, rehang a door photogenic it's not, and takes years all the cameras have left for another war we'll need the bridges back, and new railroad stations sleeves will go ragged from rolling them up someone, broom in hand, still recalls the way it was someone else listens and nods with unsevered head but already there are those nearby starting to mill about who will find it dull from out of the bushes sometimes someone still unearths rusted-out arguments and carries them to the garbage pile those who knew what was going on here must make way for those who know little and less that little and finally as little as nothing in the grass that has overgrown causes and effects, someone must be stretched out blade of grass in his mouth gazing at the clouds