A Secret

As a schoolchild he trembled
at the warm wetness spreading
in his lap. Relieved, he dreamed

it was blood, and he a soldier,
his tiny desk a pillbox he cowered behind
as planks quaked with mortar fire. Today

he cowers behind mahogany,
dreaming of sandboxes, a woman’s voice,
the sound of cicadas in the afternoon.

No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

Powered by WordPress. Designed by Woo Themes