War is a foreign currency
When I see it, I know intellectually
There are others that carry it
Though ugly and grotesque
Funny papers and garish hues
But I can’t see what it is good for
I can’t spend it
I don’t know how to get rid of it
So it gets stuffed in a shoebox
The memory uncomfortable to hold
It isn’t an asset
When it crosses borders
The locals hate it
What good is it?
A banker may know
War is foreign currency
I have no way to balance out
The loss I will take
When it’s given back to me as change
Originally published 20 Mar 03