The jar left in Tennessee-
Gray.
Unhinged.
The South will never go down!
Still soldiers surround the fertile town.
Pick up the jar,
next to you ear.
You can still hear the
rebel yell,
whipping in the sunbaked,
scorched wind.
Enough time will never be.
The blue hued sky
still resented,
as Yankee imposition,
'round here.
In that wilderness
lie many inert rows of
prime young men
shot dead,
at close, sickening aim,
Right here in gray Tennessee.
Mauled and slaughtered,
in the most greatest,
and profoundly horrible action.
And amidst the dust
Only the insensible jar
stands erect,
in 2006.
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Submission Name: A Simple Aside to Wallace Stevens,
