52. someone’s sweetheart
As twilight’s falling
I know his watch comes on
so I settle myself down
to wait again.
He’s had a few
this last fortnight
and he’s good, this one,
– better than most.
I scan back & forth, peering
in & out of foliage, metal, mud –
I know he’s out there,
I feel he’s out there,
but nothing:
no flicker of life
just the breeze in the leaves
and the grass playing games with me.
Then – yes! I exclaim to myself –
joyous now at another’s demise
for now he’s mine, at last,
– and dead already:
betrayed by the soft amber glow
from a cupped cigarette
in the folds of a tree
– his face at twilight
200 yards & clear as day.
Now I see him blinking
through the scope –
cross hairs steady, exhale,
I squeeze & hear nothing
as his soul flies away
a puff of a black red mist
silhouetted against
the fading day.
I turn & slide down the muddy wall
to sit, my pride across my lap,
& light a cigarette of my own
no joy now, but calm, again.