This War

This war will be
better than the last one,
and quicker too:
A smart, strong war;
It will put the clumsy, old ones to shame.

This war won’t litter
our remarkable roadsides,
or foul sacred rivers.
Old men won’t reel their baited hooks
into the mouths of bloated corpses,
eye sockets vacant but for a hermit crab;
faces rotted away,
or eaten by fish
that eventually haunt the dinner plate.

This war will be
the last war,
the best war.
Lovers will marvel at its weapons,
Name newborns after them:
And such children!
Only too happy
To dance in its odorless ashes.