Let Them Eat Cake by Pris Campbell
Crazy Dan, Vietnam Vet, lurks
near Wall Street, eyeballs the tents,
the angry folk shouting.
His head whirs.
The war protesters have found him.
Found him after years curled
in cartons or on well-hidden park benches-
only an occasional night dared
at the Salvation Army.
His reconnaissance skills are fading.
But no–a woman looks at him kindly,
sticks an Occupy sign into his hand,
leads him out to the street.
They’re taking the hill,
Young again, dead buddies
by his side, he charges.
He winds through orange mist,
vines; he’ll come back a hero
this time. Surely his country
will love him.
His heart pounds victory until
darkness descends with the thud
of a billy club and the glimpse
of one champagne glass tossed
by gods in pin-stripes