Poem for John McCain

Today I read about the factory
where they make the custom rolling ladders

everyone has probably seen
rising through silent rooms

full of boxes or shelves

crossed by motes in the sun

#5 is my favorite
made of black walnut
with its hinge that folds a small surface out

for reading or placing
books on as you shelve them

it’s easy to imagine working in a library

for me at least there is something shameful
about how clearly I can see it

like I am thinking something important is not

I say tomorrow waits for me
but I don’t know

if I knew anything about the wars
besides what I have been safely told

I might understand
why they call him a maverick

when he is really just a horse

a horse like me except with dark eyes
terrible from his useless suffering