#O65: The Enemy

It is spring, and some cherry blossoms are out. Almost November.

William Stafford wrote:

Learning
A piccolo played, then a drum.
Feet began to come—a part
of the music. Here came a horse,
clippety clop, away.

My mother said, “Don’t run—
the army is after someone
other than us. If you stay
you’ll learn our enemy.”

Then he came, the speaker. He stood
in the square. He told us who
to hate. I watched my mother’s face,
its quiet. “That’s him,” she said.

Stafford, William. 
Ask Me: 100 Essential Poems of William Stafford 
(Kindle Locations 375-381). Graywolf Press. Kindle Edition.

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