anti-war poem

Anti-War Poem

I wake up angry every morning
with a bloody nose and bruises the size
of avocados. This is war.

My therapist, who whispers zen,
agrees war is hell–but my war is not real:

“You are in a conflict, but the conflict is with yourself.”

Like a bird attacking his reflection in the window over and over
until he bashes his brains out?

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”