GOSSIP AND MYTH

Somewhere along the way,
I lost my anger for mankind,
that loud and profane passion

felt on dear faces, remembering
how the deep incisions
bled for days. They said

it was the war, the retreat
as unknowing bait
in the Battle of the Bulge,

keeping the men and machinery
together in the frozen snow.
Perhaps I am too old to care,

too far way to threaten
weathermen and politicians
preening before the camera crews.

I’ve lost my outrageous luster—
but as long as I’m alive,
I’ll hear stories I don’t recognize.