like the rhythm of numbers. They become almost like a mantra when you read them aloud. This poem is vaguely about war.
Vague seems to be how I deal with large concepts in my poetry. I can write crystal clear about the death of close relatives, about heartbreak, about sex. War ends up like this.
Maybe that's a good thing.
Only 2 got out alive
family loses 5
His prepared speech was delivered on the 6th
which was 8 days after the flood
3 guns were found at the scene of the crime
of the 3, only one was actually fired
Gunman killed 8 including himself
6 died at the scene, 2 en route to hospitals
If you want me to guess on a timeline for withdrawal...
I'd have to say 5 or so years.