Five Seconds Longer Than The Other Guy In The Crosshairs Of War Poem by Ted Sheridan

The long dry grass slashed back and forth like fencing sabres;
charged by a thrusting wind, they parried left then right.
With fixed bayonets the voices of a pounding dry killing drought
assaulted and attacked my ears like a cavalry of dead on horseback.
He’d been watching me for days on end; his eyes never closing,
his most important finger never once moving. Gently caressing
his main squeeze, tickling a death wish like it was his friend.
I waited for him to sleep and then I ended his life;
without pain and totally free of guilt…

2008 © TS