Thank you, war, for coming to my living room.
Without your deal with television, I'd be
watching sitcoms, cop shows. The guy in the gray
suit is telling me five soldiers died today.
And then there's pictures. Does it get any better.
Such sacrifice, they even shrunk the time
allotted to weather and sports to sneak in
one more bomb, another explosion, another
burning building. But war's a kind of weather
in its way. A sport too, from the stats I'm seeing.
Without you war, I'd be mired in the fake stuff:
the blood that's really syrup, the rifles that fire
People die and yet they're guest stars on another
What's that telling me? That everything is art, is
The guy in the serious suit knows better.
Some politician says, "We need to quit." But then
Arab killing Arab. That'll never play in Peoria or
So thank you war, and thank you America. Without our
boys, there's no show. Snapshots of the dead overwhelm
Five of them. In my home. Not in theirs.