Fabrication Of Ancestors

A poem by Alan Dugan

For old Billy Dugan, shot in the ass in the Civil War, my father said.

The old wound in my ass

has opened up again, but I

am past the prodigies

of youth’s campaigns, and weep

where I used to laugh

in war’s red humors, half

in love with silly-assed pains

and half not feeling them.

I have to sit up with

an indoor unsittable itch

before I go down late

and weeping to the storm-

cellar on a dirty night

and go to bed with the worms.

So pull the dirt up over me

and make a family joke

for Old Billy Blue Balls,

the oldest private in the world

with two ass-holes and no

place more to go to for a laugh

except the last one. Say:

The North won the Civil War

without much help from me

although I wear a proof

of the war’s obscenity.

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Poems in English 

• Sonnet 76: Why is my verse so barren of new pride? by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 75: So are you to my thoughts as food to life by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet CVIII by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet CVII: Not Mine Own Fears, Nor the Prophetic Soul by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet CVII by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet CVI by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet CV by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet CLIV by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet CLIII by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet CLII by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet CLI by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
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• Sonnet CIX by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet CIV by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet CIII by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet CII by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet CI by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet C by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 9: Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 98: From you have I been absent in the spring by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare

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