Insensitivity should go to a funeral
And dive into the perilous pool of sorrow and anguish.
He must notice the American flag neatly draped over the cream casket of a fallen soldier
And hold the mother’s hand as she clutches a tissue to her mouth to hide her tragic expression.
Insensitivity should proceed down the aisle of people to catch one last glimpse
At a paradigm of a proper man
One that fought for his country, and died for his country.

Insensitivity should tear up alongside the aunts as they examine the bulletin board of previous portraits
Of him with the family terrier, selling lemonade for 79 cents on the 55th and 56th street in worn overalls as a mere child.
Insensitivity would lay a yellow carnation over the decorative casket and keel over
to sob into his shoulder.
He would be lifted by a complete stranger to be embraced
To feel the ambiguous feeling of deep dim dread and loss.

Insensitivity should watch the mother and father of that child say their last goodbye
To their only son who graduated high school with high honors, adored hollering for the Sox to win
And initially vowed to be an astronaut at age 10.
Insensitivity should then pray for the bottomless vacancy that now resides in their souls
That can never be replaced.
He must watch them chant the soldier’s prayer and reluctantly close the coffin;
That holds the body of their beloved hero.

Insensitivity must drive unaccompanied to the burial site;
And sob hysterically in plain sight to all the other drivers
Not notice the apprehensive glance that slice through every translucent window
He should blast the most solemn lyrics from his radio
To provoke his melancholy and call his mother to tell her how much he loves her.

Insensitivity should willingly volunteer to be pall-bearer
And carry the physical body that once held a sincere spirit--
That seized a sensitive spot for his country
Insensitivity should let the rain pour onto his swollen pale face
To mask the tears that have been shed
And watch the red, white and blue flag descend into the reddish clay soil
As distressed moans disperse throughout the mass of black cloaks

Insensitivity should scan around the throng and notice the amount of people present
And burrow his knees into the drenched mud with his head in his dirty palms;
And peer towards the sky in disdain
And loosen his jaw to let it suspend in suffocating silence
And weep
Because Insensitivity would never
ever
leave an impression
as admirable as this soldier