Irony is a thin Wire

and slivovica is wasted upon the dead


two Slovak soldiers dance drunk,
slivovica and sunshine atop
overcrowded train;
they fought to stop the packed box cars
corralling humans to the fundamentalist slaughter
now they ride to a new home in Bratislava
atop the same cars, their village of Zliechov
in ruins, but they dance, the madness is over

village in ruins, they dance drunk
to be alive after years of fighting
and hiding in the mountains
returning in the dark for bread.

a young woman with an old face, Anicka,
thinks the taller soldier looks like her brother,
but Palo is dead.

one night during the siege of Zliechov, Palo
left the safety of the family cellar amid bullets
and bombs to free the cows from the burning barn,
but irony drew a gossamer line behind a bullet
from a sniper’s rifle into Palo’s back,
even with burning metal in his back Palo crawled to the barn
to free the cows but irony fell down upon him in a massive burning beam, breaking his back, charring him in half
as the cows moaned, the night exploded, and the city fell.

Anicka did not see the bullet, did not see the beam, but both
burned her back as she let out a scream
piercing the dark family cellar

the soldiers dance drunk with plum brandy
and sunshine — the war is over;
but irony is a thin wire stretching across train tracks
high enough for those seated and war-worn to pass, but young
soldiers arrogantly alive, dancing, drinking, lose their heads
Anicka watches as their heads spiral upward landing a car back,
bouncing off to either side of the train,
one body falls between the cars and makes no protest to becoming flat, the other body who looked so like Palo falls
to one side, thuds but gets up, jumping up towards the sky,
jumping, dancing, dancing as the train rolls on to Bratislava.
the young woman with an old face turns with all the others
toward the headless soldier, he dances, he dances the war is over.
he dances, he dances, irony is a thin wire
and slivovica is wasted upon the dead.

March, 1996