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 the last.


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.


But,  – 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.