DYING IN

dying on the grass in front of the chancellor’s building for Charlie Schwartz’s anti-weapons protest

brings back confused memories of the wartime sixties hitting the dirt before we realized

these were just wooden bullets and then walking back through tear gas to teach a class

lying here and watching the neutral passers-by scale the vertical asphalt

I feel neither the old embarrassment at being at right angles to most people

with brief-cases nor, and this is the spooky part that steam of comprehending anger

only the warm smell of the grass beside my nose saying, come back here every now and then