Poetry of Issue #7        Page 52

After The Next Eternity

Pool balls and faded flowers
Flags to honor the dead
Summer nights in Fayetteville
    Games lost         games won

The fallen fall in their numbers
and their names. Bury them
                one by one,
salute them, fire bullets over
their graves. Honor their courage
and their fear, their beliefs and
their doubts .
        Hear them as they fall.
        Think of all the
        years taken away. The
children and the children’s children
aborted by a roadside bomb, by a
bullet, by the decisions of stubborn
men, inflexible in their evening prayers.

Halleluiah the winning team
Halleluiah the ball hit over the fence
Halleluiah the fans with their bumper stickers
Halleluiah the numbers, six ball in the side
                pocket, nine ball in the corner
Halleluiah the balls falling forever in their pockets
                        from which no light returns
Halleluiah the faded flowers, the dust that once
was something else

        Hosanna in the highest.
            From there they have fallen.

And honor the legs, arms, eyes, and minds
that have fallen in pockets below
the stadium,     away from the crowds
Honor the people of Mudville, they have no
Joy tonight —and Joe has no eyes to see the finale score.

The fallen are falling forever, pulling the clouds with them.
They will not rise no matter how loud we shout our prayers.
They have fallen asleep in the seventh inning and only in the
eternity after next will they rise. And who will be there to cheer
            the homecoming team?

  Frank Murphy