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The Less-Men
May 13, 2014
Behind our bowed walls,
Hollowed belly and wisps of wire,
The clay beneath our shirts –
We crouched.
Silence. But the guns
And lone coughing, in every man’s choke:
A cacophony of noiseless sound
In effortless fumbles.
I – he, the next man, I – a mirror
Of trembled bowels
And bile-less throats.
A woven face, near mine across the filth;
We lay, scarecrows, to bait the crows,
And each man felled
A sack of straw.
© Terrin C., Humboldt, IA
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