Two Girls

By W. S. Di Piero b. 1945
Eighteen-sixty eighteen sixty-four,   
six hundred ten thousand men   
gaseous gray, blackened body parts   
like chopped wood in Virginia sunshine.   
Or nineteen-fourteen nineteen-eighteen,   
trench rats, thousands, big as badgers,   
rip chines from horse and human flesh.   
IED's, cluster bombs, punji sticks,   
primed to shred feet, thighs, spine, sack,   
yesterday, when we were countless.
Conscience says Count them up and be good,   
suck on me like red candy stick
in casual lookaway moments.   
Protected by neighbors, two girls   
villagers know to be deficient   
doll themselves up as bombs   
for market day's chickens and yams,
and like a world-body neural surge,   
their protectors fly into fatty parts.

Source: Poetry (January 2009).


This poem originally appeared in the January 2009 issue of Poetry magazine

January 2009
 W. S. Di Piero


W.S. Di Piero was born in 1945 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and earned degrees from St. Joseph’s College and San Francisco State College. A poet, essayist, art critic, and translator, Di Piero has taught at institutions such as Northwestern University, Louisiana State University, and Stanford, where he is professor emeritus of English and on faculty in the prestigious Stegner Poetry Workshop. Elected to the American Academy of . . .

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Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Social Commentaries, War & Conflict

POET’S REGION U.S., Mid-Atlantic

Poetic Terms Free Verse

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