By John Grey
At least he has his fellow soldiers to complain to.
What can she do? Write a letter to the pentagon?
She met with one who truly believes that prayer
will sabotage an enemy rifle, guide a boot
to the left or right of a roadside bomb.
She longed to throttle the stupid woman.
He is gone again
and she refuses to bear it
in any ordinary way.
So she picks and prods her way
through a battlefield of her own making.
She stamps down hard on flesh and bone,
grinds them into the earth.
She kicks hope around
like the skulls of the fallen.
She rolls around in the carnage
and blood splashes on her skirt,
her blouse, her face.
Stained red all over,
she stumbles back to her bungalow,
makes herself a coffee,
plumps down in a kitchen chair,
and waits for him.
*
John Grey is an Australian author, published in Hawaii Pacific Review, Dalhousie Review and Qwerty, currently residing in the US.
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