Friday, April 10, 2009


His childhood was spent
in a war zone
with the whine
of incoming nouns,
the shadow shape of enemies
in the doorway,
sudden assaults in the yard.

He dug a foxhole
behind the corn
at the end of the garden,
waited for allies
who never came.

He learned how to live
on the edge of life,
to walk where prey
finds safety: the tree line,
the stone wall, alleys.

He learned to lie,
keep silent, do without.
When he grew up,
he moved away
and became someone
no one ever sees.

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