hitching a ride out of the war zone
the television is too loud
and the radio plays softly
the ambient air
cooler than it needs to be
the clouds are low
puffy like pink elephants
roaming the skies
in search of a little drink
or a romp in a puddle of mud
all the noise from the inside
evaporates in a heartbeat
courtesy of a smart bomb
delivered from the far side
caravans become as common
as the latest virus
instinctively searching
for clear skies
like wolves or jackals
or hyenas would do
may two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
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