Somewhere a lookout
stands on a hill throwing
rocks at the sky. They're coming down
hard. Far below the flags are black. At one end the
General hammers his car. In an opposite trench
she's breaking her own nails.
At first he'd been a cave with a dragon inside
and she'd gone in hunting, determined
beyond all reason, digging up old graves.
The dragon, desperate, has flown.
When he needed her most he put up a wall and
cursed her for being too tired of breaking
everyone elses' down. His bricks are Stale Security
and what she throws at them are seeds called
Risky Business. His wall is a dam.
He wears his solitude like Samson's hair.
What saves them this time has saved them the last.
Will save them again. Accidental glances
on the battlefield. Fingertips in need of a home.
Before long a message has made its way through
the razor wire. They learn the lookout's
been killed by a rock from the sky. Daylight comes
and they crawl out of their holes. Bent to fit,
but unbroken. The General walks on into
No Man's Land, takes his flag, tears
it down and sees her there destroying her own.
The trenches fill and in one last act of defiance
they raise rifles, leaving pride with no hope
and nowhere to run. Geography changes.
Everywhere everyone turns the last light back on.