Sunday, November 9, 2014


She waits in a cement blockhouse,
Waits with one signal candle
Lit in an open window.
She has five gallons of gasoline,
A thousand packs of matches,
Ten lighters, and
She's beautiful.
Perfect, really.

She spies the shape of a man
Approaching in deep dusk,
Blows out the candle,
Sets aside oleo-smeared crackers,
And watches.
She opens the lid of the control-panel.
Studies her options.
And waits.

At a hundred yards the man stops,
Shines a flashlight in his face.
Two minutes later,
He falls into the woman's arms,
Under a starless sky,
Two sentries in love,
Their kisses like prayers
That this war will never stop.

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