Tuesday, June 22, 2010


This comes from a recent Warrior Writers workshop we did in Chicago. It's called "Ghosts."

Infantry boots pound the forest
Heavy from mud encrusting with the
Phantom of their prey

Sand grinds eternally at their soles as they
Kick down the midnight doors of apparitions that
Fall with the dust settling in their eyelets

A stray strand of concertina long buried in the clay
Gouges a toe as they
Run for cover from the shadow of fear

Infantry boots ask no questions on the run
They protect the feet and are each morning expected
To tell nothing of the day before

They are wiped, brushed, polished, shined, and buffed to
Create an illusion of youth, but beneath the polish or deep
In the tongue is always a speck with a story to tell

1 comment: