Chiang-Kai Shek Boneyard

              

the streets have been renamed

by politicians to bear fewer
remembrances of colonial times

as society evolves to retire master

narratives; what would it mean

to my father and his generation

to regard this graveyard of the past

collected together in one memorial


park, acres of bronze busts

all over the nation, monuments

beheaded, spray painted with

graffiti, or simply taken down


the Generalissimo as wounded

hero, the dictator riding out

on a dogged steed, soldiers

salute each day in choreographed


displays of military honor for one

who lays putrefying in state

guarded by young men in white

uniforms who perform daily


acts of allegiance, forbidden from

taking photographs of the tomb,

I focus instead on the 20-year-old

cadets saluting the ruler who never


commanded them, sweating in the heat

of mid-day, the vacant face of the recruit,
his brow patted dry by a superior while
standing at something less than full attention