by Glen Martin Fitch
"No animals were harmed during the filming of this production" American Humane Association 1980
Across the screen
a cowboy rides the plain.
We watched.
He stops.
I bounced on grandma's knee.
An arrow flies.
His horse rears up in pain
and falls and dies.
I cried.
She laughed at me.
Now, tell me
did her German cousin
chide the Nazi's rise
or praise it out of fear?
And did my father's mother's cousin
hide a slave or own one?
Now the choice seems clear.
At five I knew injustice.
Didn't you?
(At every age we think
we know it all)
Which thoughtless act
we do without a clue
will bring us shame--
our grandchildren appall?
Those innocent but wise
may show us how to be
tomorrow's honored hero now.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011