Now that I've been here a spell, I can appreciate
the efficiency of it all. Simple fences.
Pine hewn square, set tight and vertical in running trench,
sentries scattered round the stockade.
No view outside these walls. Inside the deadline,
siftings and bone simmer in fetid water, scruvy limbs draw up
in rottenness, chilblains may way to gangrene.
The simplicity of disease drizzling center
into the Goddamn Glory Hole.
The only true cost is the lost crop of corn
his valley could have produced in our stead.
