Butcher the evil millionaire, peasant, <br />And leave him stinking in the square. <br />Torture the chancellor. Leave the ambassador <br />Strung by his thumbs from the pleasant <br />Embassy wall, where the vines were. <br />Then drill your hogs and sons for another war. <br /> <br />Fire on the screaming crowd, ambassador, <br />Sick chancellor, brave millionaire, <br />And name them by the name that is your name. <br />Give privilege to the wound, and maim <br />The last resister. Poison the air <br />And mew for peace, for order, and for war. <br /> <br />View with alarm, participant, observer, <br />Buried in medals from the time before. <br />Whisper, then believe and serve and die <br />And drape fresh bunting on the hemisphere <br />From here to India. This is the world you buy <br />When the wind blows fresh for war. <br /> <br />Hide in the dark alone, objector; <br />Ask a grenade what you are living for, <br />Or drink this knowledge from the mud. <br />To an abyss more terrible than war <br />Descend and tunnel toward a barrier <br />Away from anything that moves with blood.<br /><br />Weldon Kees<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/interregnum/
