a poem by Nakeysha Roberts WashingtonFlowers cover the graves of the soldierswhile Agent Orange continues to “defoliate,”stripping away lives.Layers of skin peel awayone by one. DOW’s concoction gave him cancer.Lying in his bed, eyes full of what could have beenand tears.He cries because every timeI visit, I am older,which illustrates on the cruel easel—time that he had beenPOW to his VA sick bed.He cries because every timeI visit, too much time has passed,which reminds him of the timethat he wasn’t able to seehis children grow.It takes years and years for him to die.Just as flower children adornedtheir heads with laurel wreaths,flowers now cover the graveof the flower child.It is still near his head isn’t it?Still waiting for peace to shape life,flowers spring now and will latercover the headstones ofheads that will explode tonightbecause they are too near the detonation.What difference does it make?It is all in the name of martyrdomin one religion or the next.