From my notebooks

I just came across this old poem, written in pencil, 3/13/94, 11:40 a.m.

What We've Lost

All of us here, we are aware of what we've lost.
Jobs, career, a first wife and a second,
one of us even lost part of a leg,
but most of all we've lost
hope
illusions
joy.
Youth
It's all over, we mourn, embittered all
that we have lost.
Every night we see on television
people whose homes have been destroyed,
whose relatives have been murdered,
whose social system has been bombed
to pieces,
and we frown and wince and shake our
heads.
And when it's over, this brief distraction,
we go back to mourning our loss.