Noon on a Monday a Week into War

By Bill O’Connell

The Carolina wren

sings his heart out. Juncos

in the cedar respond.

A pair of returning hawks

circle beneath Air Force

jet trails — C-5 transports

lifting arms to Bahrain, Israel.

On the deck in March sun

I dig Randy Weston’s

African sounds on headphones —

his father Coltrane

gone tribal. Our leaders

play games with our lives

like the gods of old,

oblivious to the suffering

below. Soon I will nap

in my own oblivion, the music

taking me down where

rhythm meets voice

in song. When I wake,

I’ll greet Robin.

We’ll catch the latest news

on NPR. Ponder

the intricacies of war

while we make our dinner, certain

we’re on the right side.