poetry by j matthew waters

occupying time

they keep missing their targets
these so-called sharp shooters
raised from the dead
passing puberty in a heartbeat
breaking in long-range rifles
pointing bayonets toward the sky

there are worse things than
becoming the next casualty
picked off by an assassin
who goes by so many names
whether cuban or texan
or from the lower east side

I’ve been down this road before
hunting down the bad guys
only to surrender
by no fault of my own
ordered to march in single file
as if these streets are not my own

july two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Single Post Navigation

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: