But the Vietnamese built cemeteries for millions.
We stand captured, enraptured, adoring our shiny black slash,
hurling into dullard’s history as so much rancid reeking trash
the humbling lessons we—could have/should have—learned.
Yes, we built that wall and the mirrored names haunt starkly—glistening
on pretty days when gossamered by pretty clouds—but the names are now
a catalogued grotesquery of war porn. We defecate on their gloomy dying.
We snub the lessons they died to teach us.
Your ugliness betrays you, America.
You are not so good, so holy, as you choose to pretend.