0200 Hours

November 18, 2010
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On patrol
A quiet coastal cove,
no noises, just the wind.
The water is calm and flat
like three-month-old soda

Suddenly and silently
he rises out of the water.
He came out of nowhere—
You saw no bubbles or wake
as he swam,
You saw no boat or plane
that dropped him off

All you see is him
then his gun,
a red tracer on your chest.
It’s 0200 hours
and now you are dead.

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