Overgrown Boys With Bigger Toys Poem by Louis Payne

What do wars do, really,
Except fill coffins
And long strong black cars.

The dead are their business,
Laying up death for rainy nights,
While in store houses stink

Of stories cut short at the slabs -
Stack up like crates;
Pushing to be going.

And yet these neatly packaged lives,
So tight with memories,
We trade off

For biggers arms that harm the sky.
Exhausted, the sky screeches
As bullies pummle the earth like jack hammers.

Outside the over crowded mortuaries fill up
New crisp coffins creep by
Long strong black cars.