West Wind Soliloquy

By Michael Shay (August 2003)

Fine day for a funeral at the Capital City cathedral,

warm, partly cloudy, nice westerly breeze that might

blow storms in off the mountains, says the weatherman, but

the song in my head says you don’t need a weatherman to

know which way the wind blows.

The soldier was 24, well-liked, had his heart set

on an Army career. A lieutenant, West-Pointer, Fourth Infantry

Division. The newsman said this young guy from oil country

was killed July 30 in a small arms attack at a tactical operations

center in Belaruz, Iraq.

Those are the facts. In Crawford, Texas, the dry wind musses

the hair of the vacationing C.E.O.-in-chief at his petroleum ranch. He

says “we’ve made good progress in Iraq.” Re-opened banks, murdered 

thousands of Iraqis, rebuilt the infrastructure, killed hundreds of our

own, stirred up democracy, got the crude flowing again, lined the

pockets of the V.P. and his oily pals.

Army pallbearers carry the casket down the cathedral steps.

The relatives are here

the press is here

the senator is here

the governor is here

the mayor is here.

the flags fly at half-staff.

the cops lead the procession of long, white

cars; bells toll, sirens wail.

Minutes later, all is quiet, but the wind

still blows.