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The War Game • A Free People

The War Game

The War Game

At the Garden to see
the Knicks and Cavs,
when the spectacle began:
the lights went down,
the announcer dramatically,
somberly introducing
the wounded warrior
and the mob erupted
as the spotlight bathed
their hero soldier in a ray
of blazing white light.
Then his fragile but steely
voice filled the now hushed
arena, describing how
he’d thrown himself
on a grenade to save
his buddies, how he’d
survived and suffered
through an agonizing the
recovery and when he’d
finished in a whisper
of inspired, patriotic strength,
the mob went crazy, roaring
a wild bloodlust that shook
the rafters and woe to anyone
not screaming their fool heads
off, fists pumping the air.
No explanation rendered,
of course, as to why
the Empire had violated
yet another country, of why
it’d bloodied another landscape,
maiming and killing thousands
nor would it have made
a bit of difference: these
loyal citizens didn’t care
for details, they wanted war
and death forever, as long
as it wasn’t theirs. Then
it was over and the game
resumed with Lebron
driving hard to the hoop
for a monster jam
and the mob instantly
forgot about the soldier
and the faraway bloodbath
but another dose of deadly
propaganda had been
neatly, expertly delivered,
with the precision of
a perfectly executed drone strike.

a free people

old, haggard, white woman,
an explosion of hate her right
arm stuck out in defiant Nazi
salute, hating reason, community,
sharing and most of all progress
of the spirit. but loves the gun,
the fist, her race, the frontier
of her forbearers killing any
thing they didn’t cotton to
and the bully boast of the neo-
fascist bellowing at the microphone.
she will never go away, her
off spring and theirs sworn
to predation and ruthless
survival of the blood with blood,
thriving in the weakness of those
who sleep, who wake too late
to the blade falling in the night.

Paul Lojeski

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