You Me And The Rest

You, Me and the Rest

You, me and the rest
stand in a line
like a procession
our backs to the others,
our feet marching ahead
In our hands we carry a calendar of
hundred years
and our hair has grown white baking stories
of lament and trying.
You, me and the rest
stand in a line
and we don’t talk
we murmur calendar stories to ourselves.
words killing words
one obliterates the other.
The survivors dive into a melting pot
and stir themselves to a smooth paste,
You and I cancel out,
the rest die.

The general comes out
and summons another line.