BY ILENE HUFFMAN
My eyes like marbles
crushed amber bled, wide eyed.
Explosions consume the television.
Cable programming doesn't offer 3D?
I can smell the gunpowder in mom's meatloaf
"Just add ketchup", dad says.
That's not ketchup on that guy's shirt,
pouring out of his ears.
Where's his mother to do his laundry?
She's back at home reading his letters.
Little does she know he won't be back
for dinner and conversation
about the good old days
when times were good and war was far away.
Just turn to Channel 5, "it's like you're
there with them".
Only you can't hear them crying.
Seeing is not believing unless
you can feel the sand hit your face.
The bed is soft and we cling together,
lying this way and that.
We share some cookies and milk
and laugh because I like
crossword puzzles and you like T.V..
We fight because you steal blankets.
Our bodies, like a bridge, hold tight
and I can smell your skin under my nose.
My tongue captures sweat from your forehead.
It's 3 o'clock in the morning and the night brought
my heart to its perilous end.
Your face consumes my dreams while
others sleep as nightfall rests;
my heart but in flames projects
your image lit in me.
If I could die this way, I would give up