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.