CRUSADE

Bumper stickers proclaim
the wonders of the salt mines,
stretch their beckoning ribbons
across a continent.

Crusader ghosts wander
the outskirts of the great pyres,
their grey armor transparent.

A last radio crackles,
"No solution left
but to burn it all down!"

A man wavers, numb but jubilant.
I have never heard a voice
clearer than his as he sings,
"Match sticks, match heads.
Light me up--I'm ready to go!"