I Wretched RedIIThe long frontieris covered with the bones ofthe brave and stupidMy bones will not be found therebecause I am onewho remembersI, who killed them bothenjoyed killingthe brave morethan the stupidI make heroes I make gallows from themI make remembrancesof the last republican armythat fell to Francowatched itdie on its kneescalling out to the villagerskiss me kiss meI have become ValhallaI remember the poetry of KeitaFodebaand the liberation of Saigonall filthy Arabs and niggers...the little village that dancedand told tales of victoryand the rape of Gaeableed swiftlydamnation of my memorypour outmenstruatethis memoryI am calling on my kneesonce morethe village is sleepingthe village sleepsdeepits arms aroundthe book of Leviticus29and Ploetz's30 corpseMy knuckleshave you brokenI sip the salty juicefrom my own fingersthe bit of blood I savefor the village Excerpted from Wabigoon River Poems by David Groulx All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.