The man lies cautiously
on the hard, dirt ground.
As he waits for the enemy,
his finger is ready to pounce on the trigger.

His black sunglasses are pushed
slightly down his nose,
and he locks his eyes on
the black dirt-filled scope.

All the long hours of training
his sore body has fought through
will be put to use in the next few seconds,
or be put to rest.

Breathing slowly and calmly,
enemies are just minutes away.
He holds the gun tightly against his shoulders,
as if born to do this job.

He waits for the enemies,
for the signal,
for the war.

He waits to go home.