The Great Bataan Dance

His secret was to find yesterday
Reborn into the present one,
For today to contain the seed
Of tomorrow’s twenty-four hours
Bearing the fruits of labors
Mirrored again for another day,

No feature sharpened or sweetened
With spurs or bumps of distinction,
No action donning the time
And honoring it with a medal,
He made sure to finish nothing
That did not have a sequel to play
At some moment yet to be lived,
To escape the judgment before sleep,

Every waking period was identical,
The hope was that no day was wasted,
And if in fact poorly used,
Then hardly noticed in going away,
Days past, present, and future
Mass manufactured by his deeds,
Making interchangeable parts
Of the life he was hoping to loop.

Ben Nardolilli is a twenty-five-year-old writer currently living in Arlington, Virginia. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, One Ghana One Voice, Caper Literary Journal, Quail Bell Magazineelimae, Super Arrow, Grey Sparrow Journal, A Hudson View, The ToucanContemporary American Voices, Eudaimonia Poetry Review, Rabbit Catastrophe Review, Gloom Cupboard, and Beltway Poetry Quarterly. In addition he maintains a blog at htt:// and is looking to publish his first novel.

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