Sunday, September 2, 2018

Dum te dum te dum







In glorious Technicolor, breathtaking Cinemascope, magnificent
dum te dum te dum te dum stereophonic surround sound, Michael
lying on corrugated roof watching for Germans or Indians
crawling on their bellies through the tall grass of Glynn’s garden.
Eyes, pillbox slits. Sharp blades of grass quivering in June breeze;
or infiltrating dogs, enemies. Sounds, rustlings in the heat haze,
above the undergrowth, flicker in his eyes; sweeps the sweat
from his forehead beneath a blazing noon sun; endlessly patience,
tripwire-finger on trigger. It was the time of get that woman back
into the wagon, but Michael skipped last night’s soppy love scene
and is now the last one, the only one, still alive to defend O’Dea’s.

No comments: