someone’s sweetheart
As twilight’s falling
I know his watch comes on
so I settle myself down
to wait again.
He’s had a few
this last fortnight
and he’s good, this one,
really good.
I scan back & forth, peering
in & out of foliage, metal, mud -
I know he’s out there,
I feel he’s out there,
but nothing, again,
no flicker of life out there
just the breeze in the leaves
and the grass playing games with me.
But, yes ! – I exclaim to myself -
joyous at another’s demise
for now he’s mine, at last,
- and dead already;
betrayed by the soft amber glow
from a cupped cigarette
in the folds of a tree
his face at twilight:
200 yards & clear as day.
Now I can see him blinking
through the scope
cross hairs steady on his forehead,
I squeeze & hear nothing
as his soul flies away - a puff of a black red mist
silhouetted against
the fading day.
I turn my back & slide down
to sit, rifle across my lap,
& light a cigarette of my own,
no joy now, but a job well done, again.