“Ares Inebriated” is one of two marvelously mythical poems by Bernadette McComish in our Fall 2017 issue.
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A LOADED GLOCK
a full shot—
That’s American, he mutters.
No grin or grimace
just down the throat
and another and what
will they sacrifice to him today—
a goat, a village, a teenager?
Would it matter if they knew
he was over it, done with war
or would they keep killing
in his new names, the ones he hates.
At the only bar
in a town with no strangers
he drinks alone and thinks
It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.
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Continue reading “Ares Inebriated” – Poetry by Bernadette McComish
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