Youth
Young soldier
batman glasses,
hair in stiff-jelled peaks
that challenge gravity and import
an air of grave astonishment.
Soft lips
and cheeks still smooth.
With hands chapped raw and dirty nails,
you clutch your rifle,
nod in sleep, half-smiling.
dreaming of last night,
you are my tomorrow.
(November 2000)
(First published in Poetica, October 2004)
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