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This poem is taken from PN Review 163, Volume 31 Number 5, May - June 2005.

Five Poems Robert Saxton


A little more damage
     makes the damage slighter -
until one day you stand
    among the slaughter,

hark back to that first day
    when stopping sooner
would fail to make
    your soldiers any saner.

I'm thinking of you senile
    in the moonlight,
and hunted, like the redskin
    in your gunsight.

But all you claim to feel's
    the sweat of nightmare.

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