When I lived on the edge of Summer Hill I walked past a creepy, overgrown, clapped-out house in my street several times a week. No matter what time of the day or night I walked past, I always heard a song wafting out of the house that was all about the glory of men going off to war, fighting and dying. I now know this to be "The Ballad of the Green Berets", a patriotic American war song from the 1960s. The whole phenomenon creeped me out pretty deeply.
On a darkened corner at the end of the street, the overgrown house breathes a military beat. It repeats and repeats, itches trigger fingers and marching feet. It’s like a lunatic hollow curse. It’s a senseless flag on a senseless hearse. I am afraid of the hawk of war who dreams behind that deadlocked door. I am afraid of the war.