The Perfect Anti-War Poem

My friend Rich Broderick invited me to an anti-war poetry reading at a St. Paul coffeehouse. I thought about anti-war poems for several days. What should they do, exactly?

Be against the war, of course. But what should happen when certain words are uttered in a room of people who, presumably, already agree on basic principles?

It is like me to get bollixed with basic questions at a time when everyone else is scurrying for their duct tape and rifles.

I mean, what good is a poem by some lowly person against a cruise missile, or an aircraft carrier, or Total Information Awareness? (...)

Words mean little in the moment of a great evil. But we remain human, despite, or perhaps because of our moments of madness. Some day the dust will settle again, and all that will be left are the words of peace.

To quote Rich, quoting the greatest anti-war poem ever, commemorating the billions of luckless over a thousand bare centuries, swept away by strong certain men, in Iraq, in Judea, even in the wintry streets of Saint Paul:

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God."
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