THE DREGS OF THIS
The dregs of this one-day old wine
in the bottom the glass just seemed
to turn into booze. Well, nothing I'd
want to drink. Smells like rotgut to me.
The names of those perished are written
on the side : dead soldiers, coming back
for more grappa. Their blood drips just
like any old Merlot; why do they brag
so then? Every cause, it seems, wants
always to have its very own vintage.