spears were no more polite

Soldiers move boulders, carry rocks in their pockets,
weigh themselves down with medallions, memoirs,
love letters and dogtags.

This building they rest against
is rubble,
it was just rebuilt last year,
and the year before that.

They hide out in the open
like they never learned to play tag.

Thoughts buzzing with names for babies
back home they haven't seen, as bullets
pass over like bees unseen,
just as eager to sting.

Eyes on the prize,
surprise,
there is no grail.

So a man runs through
the kicked up dust,
chasing heaven,
but catching hell.

Again and again,
and what's gained?

There's leave,
but in the middle of the night
after dancing,
sound asleep,
there's a sound
that wakes them,
that will not leave them alone.

There's a shriek,
and a grasping of lover's wrist,
a gasp of something amiss,
a predator
that's followed them home.

Her arm bruised, she makes coffee,
brings the cup to the table,
and he silently asks
for forgiveness.

But he's stuck in the desert
next to downed power lines,
wondering
why there are so few trees.

Wandering under the sun,
awaiting news of
the birth of his son,
and the mother
who waits for news
of his death,
is watering a garden
she's kept.

At any moment,
there could be fire,
smoke billowing black
against the sky,
and no amount of weeping
will douse the flames.

They watch from windows,
not ready to move.

The streets below are too lively.

With so much hope in the air,
they've learned to avoid
smiles and cheers.

It's the promise of happiness
that leads to despair,
that leads to their fears.

And the sun isn't so hot today.

It's almost like spring.