Veteran

by Alex Scott

Who would have thought that in those dark forgetting arms I would find so much violence? The whine and clunk of listless garbage trucks, the shaking walls and slamming doors from other occupants, arguments. So fierce a row, their screaming shells bombard my dreams, curling the cradling arms of sleep into a stranger's grasp. Bullets whir around my head, the streets are lit with flame. I opened fire on nameless foes and witnessed war crimes in matchbox cars. I was there when the first rape squads arrived. By then pale day was ghosting me away and I was gone. Offered up to the polite murmur of morning traffic that would hear me out, but never really understand.

 

This poem is taken from Total Cardboard issue 6, and remains under copyright. For more information see www.totalcardboard.com