The sprouting foam that rises above the sea
Is not from waves hitting rocks,
But practice rounds, artillery
In spring, as in the past, they do not shock
The citizens of the south, even though it means
The north may soon launch a real one.
But the US builds the hill of beans:
War games supersede a chance to heal some.
Again the cease fire turns from history to news
But why do we insist on playing here?
A better game, out on Pacific blue
Would not cause the north to fear.
One day maybe all will understand
Who the real provocateurs remain.
For now the splashes reach the sand
Unlike spring flowers so contained.
But what if one year some maniac responds
With something more than minor mortar fire?
Now culture, language, Gaesong’s iffy bonds
Do not assure that days both dark and dire
Will not return to tear this place apart.
Because there’s money to be made on war
And humans who still have a feeling heart
Simply do not matter any more.