This afternoon the clouds are sliced
In two by fighter jets in pairs
Thundering over our city; training,

The government would like to remind you.
Intimidation, you might answer.

Yet, at the end 
Of the Fresno airport runway
On Dayton Avenue
(before the Scandinavian Colony school 
recreation area was built),
Was a tract home Philip Levine rented.

As an anarchist,
He wouldn’t want to own property.

The jets have no sense of propriety.

And no one told them that poetry,
Which actually does nothing, 
Has saved the world
From the military and war.

Because Levine wrote poems
From sunrise until lunch, 

Friends did not call at this time,

In the rear bedroom 
Under poor light,

Anarchy prevails. Peace had been won,
And you are only now finding out about it.