Sore Spot

A good poem
Would give you
Specifics

What the parents
Did to the kids
What the lovers
Said in shadows

During the real war
In the real city
Full of dirt and blood
Under the real sun
The real monarchy

A real poem would give you
A window on the world
Of actual humans
From actual countries
With actual beliefs
And ideologies

But you already know
What I’m going to say now
About how I’m not real
How every word of me
Is less poetry than
Preemptive strategy

And you’d be correct—
What honest heartbreak
What kind of comfort
Comes from evasive
Generalities?

None, in a word—
None in a world
That is itself
Built of details

That echo
With aching
Apathy