We Are Nothing If Not Helpful

The foxes are prowling,
the foxes we fed. We
had them eating out of our hands.
We took them into our tent                    
and sharpened their teeth.

We trained them,
helped them to be cunning.

When we left they knew
exactly how to get
whatever they wanted.
They crossed the river
and prowled. They
went next door,
demanded their due.

They stalked females
searching for food,        
forced them to mate.
They bit off ears and legs                           
of the young. Even their tails
were blood-soaked.

We told them to stop
but they wouldn’t hear.

They turned their sharp faces
toward us, yellow eyes blazing.     
They bared their teeth and
barked their hideous bark.
What could we do?

Next we fed the pumas,
sharpened their teeth.

Our Best

They volunteer to die, the young        
They think they are invincible

               We wow them with military parades 
               Dazzle them with patriotic air shows

They enlist for the eye-catching uniform  
Are proud of the status it gives them       

               We send them to war for flimsy reasons
               Deploy and redeploy them

They learn to follow orders
To censor what happens in the field

               We’re silent about scarce equipment
               We curtail care for the wounded                   

They spill blood in the names of the fathers
               They are our daughters and sons
                           Some come back as ghosts

.

Phyllis Wax writes on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan in Milwaukee, WI. She grew up in the Washington, DC area, which might be why social justice issues push their way into much of her work. Also inspired by nature and human nature, as well as by music of all sorts, her poetry has appeared in many publications, including Writers Resist, Jerry Jazz Musician, Rise Up Review, Spillway, Peacock Journal, Gyroscope Review, Wordpeace, New Verse News, Your Daily Poem, Mobius.