blue and grey

i almost buy a thick
book
on the civil war.
the blurbs are wonderful.
it's the best
book, the most
comprehensive book,
the greatest
book ever written about
the war
between the states.
i pick it up
and feel the weight of it.

it would make a great
door stop should the reading
become laborious.

what don't i know
about the war?
a lot i'm sure, but do i even
care.
maybe later i'll care, but
where i'm at right now
I've got my own trench
to dig, my own rifle to load,
my own bayonette
to sharpen.
i'm just waiting for the bugle
to blow before i charge
over the hill and
blindly into the sunlight.

i flip through the black
and white
photos of the book, not a smile
on any face,
whether dead or
living.
i carry it around the store
for awhile i peruse
other books,
poetry mostly, the thin
racks
getting thinner every day.
then i set it down
among the other never to be
bought books,
then leave.