For My Brothers and Sisters in Arms...

Can’t Get Colder...

This evening’s dust and mist,
Makes our floodlight beams seem like solid bars,
Everything is like I have dusty yellow lenses in my eyes.

The lights and swirling of air don’t seem friendly tonight.
Glum figures pass me, head down, walking fast,
Skimming over lit up dirt –crazy with shadows,

They are a nothing shade of granular grey, and silent,
Like purgatory ghosts who don’t care.
Moist fog slits through my uniform,
Clammy hands stuffed in pockets.

Everyone pulls their body in,
Quiet, all thoughts turned inward.
Shriveled into nuggets of men.

Soon, I stop fighting the cold and let myself shake,
With eyes closed very hard.

Checking always checking…

I reach down to feel the industrial steel,
Of Government Issued weapons,
Contracted to someone…somewhere
For use by us…in some place.

Touching the wet metal,
It reaches back for me,
Surprising me, like I suddenly woke up alone,
Not knowing where I slept.

I try to forget who I am,
And the night starts to feel much colder.

February 2008