Monumental Mystery Poem by John W. McEwers

My eye is caught by big things.
I see clouds,
I stare.
I see tall buildings,
I look up till my neck gets stuck.
I see stadiums,
my eyes play games till the vessels burn for blinking.
I see love,
I am enthralled.

It is through this impulse that I find myself standing,
straight-legged,
scarecrow-still,
in front of a statue of a man from the great war.

He carries a gun in his hand that might as well be a canary in a cage,
portents of doom,
instruments of mutual destruction.
As I watch immovable, his gun chirps.
It chirps again.
Tweet tweet.
I blink.
The bird is dead.
Hero of an age
forgotten.