The Four Horsemen Poem by Hugh Joseph Curran

Four Horsemen
He flexed his shoulders, his apocalyptic tattoos flickering
in the locker-room, the skulls rearing with horses on his muscled

flesh; Responding to my questions with slow-motion gestures
and measured speech, he spoke of a young wife no longer attuned

to the portents he adhered to in youth; his new-found faith more in
tune with a militant code of ethics recently adopted: Now he strode

to the shower, his tall frame shouldering flared nostrils of water in
gurgling rivulets falling over haunches to a guttered floor; Back at the

locker, he rapidly fitted himself into a marine recruiters tunic, his torso flexing
muscularly while the four horsemen rode within his uniform, his former

easy talk becoming clipped speech trained to regulation dress, permitting
him to cover up his flesh of revelations; His firm handshake became a gesture

of reflexive cordiality, his grip stronger than our meeting seemed to merit
as he walked out, ramrod straight, the skull and crossbones a hidden credo.