the fighting season

Typewriter5by Dryden19 Jun 2014

the radio announcer reports
the end of the fighting season
in Afghanistan
as autumn is wrestled into winter
because even violence is beleaguered and beaten
craving respite
hunkering down into a trench of hibernation
this desperate delicacy
sinks into a grudge-filled sleep
a slumber thundered-through with grumbling –
groaning as tortured muscles atrophy
in fitful seizures and spasms and cramps
days – weeks – months of stiffening
and winter’s wild tarantella swirling
outside the dens and caves where
violence incubates
coiling and crouching inside
nightmares and memories
still lucid to a new day darkening
the fighting season
not ended
only interrupted
not exiled
only suspended
as if from a thin black wire
dangling dangerously
a toxic fever sweating
anticipating a blazing ball of lightning to
snap the wire
to scream a new season of
violent delights

half a world distant
a radio announcer
waits too
for coffee to finish streaming
from a machine into a
paper cup