Beneath statues
of Civil War heros
On bronze horses,

Green with age
And victory, sits
The ragged infantry

Of every park,
Pairs of drunks
Passing bottles

Back and forth
Like magicians
Handling fire,

Swallowing wine
Cold and raw,
Swapping tales

Of war, agreed
That bums should
Be in bronze

And generals made
To sit on benches.
The democracy

Of summer has
Its say. Come
December, hands

Stretched out
To trash-can fires
Long for peace.