LIFE BY THE WAYSIDE

He sits
waiting for something
sniper-eye steady
patience unfailing
and in purpose
ever-ready.

Bird feed
and wind-chime diversion
at home
aside the heavily forested
where distant coyote-whine
reminds
of pack mentality
he can no longer ascribe to.

This wilderness
billed
solitary perfection
bed down for an existance
he wished
never existed.

He sees
like scope-out tracking
ghost
hellbent on hijacking,
transporting man
to distant memory
this paradise
won’t pull him from.

And shame,
he starts,
where soft touch
meets heavy smile
gruesome
gun-powder striking
pulling taunt cheeks
and stopping
before it reaches his eyes – –

it passes
as peace is a wave
occasionally rolling
light, soft,
and calming
but always moving
retreating
and as he perceives it
never
never lasting.

So he sticks
to what he knows
best.

He sits
sniper-eye steady
like buzzard gaze
over a killing field
patience unfailing
and always
always ready.

“For what?”
“It’s nothing.”

Nothing.
Nothing?
OK.

Bang.

For: Dad.

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