leaving the foxhole

this is how it started:
a blow was thrown
bob, weave
duck.
sweat glistens
on the brow, on the knuckles
raining the mat.
but no blood, not yet.

this is how it progressed:
swinging swords
from a sheath that is a closedmouth
sever the thickness
stale air splintered by breath
hot like steamin rain gutters.
but no blood, not now.

this is how it escalated:
mortor fore spots the sky
like flocks of geese,
until they shower down.
shellshocked and shunned
so run for cover, return fire.
but no blood, not even.

this is how it climaxed:
a hand off through door crack
skin contact with the enemy
rules of engagement says to aid
so with the formality of conflict
a tissue paper cease fire.
but no blood, not cleaned.

this is how it dragged:
a layer of cinder block bricks
stacked with breach of trust
through espionage and invasion.
a cold war of finger pointing
when an arm rejected
the offer of peace.
but no blood, not flowing.

this is how it resoluted:
peace talks and treaties
enemy contact established
when a soft hand grips the rough
hand of the adversary.
weapon stock piles are scrapped
so bridges can be built with their
soldered flesh-

but no blood, not for a pointless war
when words are sharp
and there is a shortage of bandages.





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