All Wars Are One War
by Robert Kinerk
All wars are one war.
The old hate the young.
It’s all the same ditch
in which bodies get flung.
Tailors and sailors and boozers and bums,
pickers of apples and pickers of plums,
bakers and brewers, Shakespearean scholars,
they’ll pay you in the coin of praise.
They’ll pay themselves in dollars.
All wars are one war
and everyone dies.
They give you a rifle
but poke out your eyes.
Cobblers, cabbies, and diggers of clams,
bookies and rookies and smokers of hams,
millwrights and butchers and long-distance haulers,
They’ll pay you in the coin of praise.
They’ll pay themselves in dollars.
They’ll pay themselves in cold, hard cash
and wince to watch your blood go splash.
They’ll say tsk-tsk about the slaughter.
They’ll pay you in the coin of praise.
They’ll write your name in water.
The old hate the young.
It’s all the same ditch
in which bodies get flung.
Tailors and sailors and boozers and bums,
pickers of apples and pickers of plums,
bakers and brewers, Shakespearean scholars,
they’ll pay you in the coin of praise.
They’ll pay themselves in dollars.
All wars are one war
and everyone dies.
They give you a rifle
but poke out your eyes.
Cobblers, cabbies, and diggers of clams,
bookies and rookies and smokers of hams,
millwrights and butchers and long-distance haulers,
They’ll pay you in the coin of praise.
They’ll pay themselves in dollars.
They’ll pay themselves in cold, hard cash
and wince to watch your blood go splash.
They’ll say tsk-tsk about the slaughter.
They’ll pay you in the coin of praise.
They’ll write your name in water.
Robert Kinerk writes poems, fiction, plays, and books for children. His most recent publication is Tales from the Territory: Stories of Southeast Alaska. He and his wife, Anne, live in Cambridge, MA.