Service
a tall spire
long,
solid stone,
jutting into
the sky
between two clouds
that form
a pair of
fleshy lips
at the spire’s base,
words etched
in black stone
memorializing
the sacrifice
of sea men
I walk
among
the stone walls
some have
reliefs,
images of battle,
soldiers
carrying weapons
benches
to sit on,
to lay on,
plain and simple,
marble,
I think,
line the paths
there are
two girls
wearing
almost nothing
giggling
their voices
husky and heavy
reverberate
against
the tomb-like
markers
bouncing,
echoing around
cutting
through the somber mood
I notice
the weeds
peeking out
through the bricks
of the walking path
I think
about the soldiers
walking
on foreign soil
working
on foreign whores
and wonder
where the marker
for the prostitutes
is
and perhaps
if the gigglers
knew where it was
whether or not
the two
would pay
their respects
to the service
of those identified
lost in the service
of America
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