Sequel to Your Letter

My Letter

I got The Letter.
The one that God should have never written.
With my name and his base address.
U.S. Army seal solomnly printed at the top of the lonely
paper.
"Ms. Carolyn Sullavin," they said to me,
"We regret to inform you that on October 12th..."
The rest blurred as my eyes watered and grew frantic.
They described how it happened, some sort of bomb that those
videogames imatate to impress teen boys.
It took him from me.
The rest was just condolences and advice;
the impersonal kind that they just copy and paste 
to the family who sets one less palce at the table
to the mother who won't see her baby agian
to the daughter who won't be walked down the isle
to the son who won't be cheered for at the game
to me
Brian earned a size 14 headline in the paper
another tally; set of combat boots for strangled America

Well I won't let these politicians get away with his death.
I'll hold them responsible with a ballot and a sign.
I'll let my country know how much I care and lot it.
But I also love the people of the world and how want to do
them justice too.
With the pile of soldiers' deaths blocking out the sun
now the casualities are becoming just that--casual.
Casual to the news, politicians, government.
But they can't see how I can't stand Family Guy
and fries and peanut butter ruing my day
or how my sunrises grow dimmer
or how this country is dancing in quicksand.