Monday, November 27, 2017

After a Bad Dream ~


Looking out an oblong cellar window
I watched mercenaries that night
swarming through our streets,
heard tank cleats chewing asphalt,
listened to planes strafing,
heard bombs squealing down at us,
heels thumping on porches,
saw black-gloved fists pounding:
while in fitful sleep
fear raged inside me
defying all defenses.

Awake now, from struggle uncoiled,
I lay shooing the dream
by asking myself what trucks I heard
were saying while driving down 
steep Main Street hill
breaking the night silence by throttling—
prolonging it even,
slower, ever slower it seemed,
each intoning drawn-out drum rolls,
upbeat in triumph it seemed,
as if each were driving down through
some long-sought-for, sung-about town.

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