Is Paid! Poem by Eric Cockrell

somewhere inside the dead body of the squirrel,
in halting silence beneath the bare-limbed oak....
lies the secret to stopping the wars.
while cars race by in hungry blindness,
and peoples faces disappear into pockets.
now the sidewalk bar near deserted,
i stole a cigarette between drinks.
even the leaves in self absorbed dying,
never mention or realize.
as a priest trips over the curb,
in haste for the afternoon prayer.
while those who believe in god buy matches,
those who dont shovels and bricks.
and soldiers huddle around righteous fires,
as oil rigs pound behind vacant homes.
and mirrors tremble in the adjoining room,
where the cost of reckoning is paid!