Thursday, January 12, 2012

bobbi lurie

waiting for the enemy to appear                                   

The day’s failures make holes in my night sight
Where I sit for sentry duty in a foldable lawn chair

There is debris on the beach
The salt air stings the inside of my nostrils

There are eggshells in my sandwich
But I chew it anyway

I sense a ship coming in
From the distant horizon

My employer is a general
From one of the last past wars

He gave me his best pair of field glasses
He will call at 5 a.m. to check on the enemy’s maneuvers

I drift into the sound
Of palm fronds

So different from
The swollen oaks of my past

Not a sociable bone exists
In my bloated body

Just my love for the general
And the scent of fallen foam buried in the salted sand


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