Poem

Untitled

Laura’s agonizing tears burned

Jim’s chest as, gently, firmly,

He led her away from a city

In a country

Whose people had lost hope

His mind wandered to the night, years ago,

When they’d held each other close, safe, secure

Against incoming rockets

And swore they’d change the ways of these people

And presently Jim swore, likewise,

To rearrange the face of the bastard

Shelling the cinderblock schoolhouses

Embodying the knowledge of fishing with

Which he’d left them

As the giant hand applied

To Jim its tremendous donkey-punch

He thought,

How funny, that 155mm shells have no sound

Save for that of the rush of blood in my ears