Reflection: Personal Effects

But

they issued the shovel and the rifle and you dug

But

to watch you sitting there between the sandbags

But

to watch the sand spilling out the bullet holes

But

what did they expect

But

what did they really think a sheet of metal could prevent

But

I sat rolling little ears of pasta off my thumb like helmets

But

it was not a table of fallen men

But

my hand registered fatigue

But

the men in fatigues were tired of sleeping in shifts

But

you snuck into town and dialed home until you wrote your fingers were tired

But

the code for Shiraz was down

But

all of Shiraz was down

But

the sheet lightning above the Ferris wheel of rusted bolts

But

I am sure they are alright you wrote Well to reassure yourself

But

the wind like an old mouth shaking the unnamed evergreen outside my window

But

what I mean is I'd like very much to talk a bit