There’s some peace to be found in the
in these rain-beaten slabs, sinking into the earth themselves,
and the new American flags that adorn them.
Historians will not preserve you
as they have here, in heroes’ graves
in the city centre.
The best you can hope for is a country churchyard,
orange leaves and snow above you as the seasons change,
ravaged body gone but your bones will remain.
The city might remove your stone, someday,
Maybe after the inscription has faded away,
But here below the earth you will stay, in obscurity.
Peacefully; divorced from the excesses of life
And the petty destructions of modernity.