POETRY

There you are, sideways
as you've never been before,
in front of the window, white
and bare in this lush decor.

You're half smiling, half surprised
at the irony of your fate,
not sure anymore of waiting
for a sign full of wonder.

I suppose I ought to have
followed you in. I wanted to,
but honey, you know me
I'm not of your golden world.

Soldiers returning from Irak
might know what I vaguely mean.
A curtain lifts, and there you see
all the wretched, young and old.

And they call on you. Anything,
a healthy eye, a pint of blood,
a prayer half heartfelt, and half
submerged in absolute thunder.

jam08