Names

A few names tell it all,
the whole incredible history
of one generation, mine;
names that we cannot manage
with a drum-roll, like Waterloo,
nor pitch to the eloquence
of tragic Gettysburg.

Hiroshima sticks in our throats;
we choke on the bones of Buchenwald,
spit out the stones of Berlin.
Who says Vietnam
burns his tongue,
and Mississippi, o Mississippi
scrubs out our mouths
till we cry mercy.