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A Man Who Lived For Peace
Cats had fouled both his rooms.
The kitchen was unmentionable.
Damp books lay open on every sticky table.
Knowing what things meant
Meant more to him than keeping them tidy.
Cold seeped from the stone floors.
Ashtrays stank like poisoned compost
You can't blame the cats for that.
This was the place he left:
Insult of uncleanliness added
To injury of disarray
Trivial after violent and untimely death.
Not one to believe the credit line
Of any sanctity account was limitless,
For years he tried to make this country holier.
The flash flood left his body shredded.
"What a stupid way to die!"
His father said, softly slapping
His forehead after the funeral.
But he couldn't have meant that
If he'd thought it through.
We friends didn't admit his parents,
Numbed by the bad news from the desert,
To the dankness where he lived,
Till someone came to clean up after their son,
Who prayed his work could change the world.
Jeffrey Green (Click for bio.)