A Small War Has Ended

And I am waiting for the love parade,
the 11 o’clock news to tell us who’s won,
who’s lost. Peace in our time, the papers
promise again, to which the radio answers
with white smoke, the perpetual logic of static.
A girl needs a gun these days on account
of all the resonant memories. We inaugurate
our next affair with the thunderous gallop
of kettle drums. The soldiers burn cities
and towns as soldiers do, and I drink just
enough to be able to sue for peace. A woman-
my once and future wife-recites the terms
of my surrender from her perch on the davenport:
you be me for a while, and I’ll be you.