Don Bogen


The myriad slash and burn

Where are my armies of die-cut cardboard

Map grids, battle charts, dice in the felt-lined cup

Gettysburg and Normandy worlds at thirteen I could half control

History was my door closed, playing both sides

Boxes that engulfed me crumble in the landfill

Soaked and rotting, the worms eating through

Each small thing I make now holds its edge

As if to cut off time

© 2005 Electronic Poetry Review