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by Allen Taylor

While in Iraq in 2005 I wrote enough poems to fill a book. "Cigar" was originally published in The New Verse News on January 20, 2008.

    Drawn out deep, like the upward concerns of an intern. Captains delight in late night fatties, blue skies dressed in vanilla, and star- crossed lips ladled with love stains. Free soil built this land. Death may dance in the sun but I'm taxed. Hand me a bill of sale, this whore has the whole damned country by the balls. The king may know his legacy, but where are his clothes, mind you? The Right Wing spins a new face while the Party reminisces and the world is made safe. For democracy is a costly business, liberty a puff of smoke in a courtroom. Battlefield worms like us seek security in slow-poppin' cherries and close calls, rockets red glaring past our bedtimes. I'm fed the hell up with Hillians casting lots, forgetting to shed light on this year's stale, burned-out two-party topic.
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