a few seconds
an old man, in torn dirty clothes, cautiously
emerges from the blown-out shell
of a charred building
he walks with a cane
stooped, his head lowered
the old man’s eyesight is poor
a few seconds
the old man reaches the broken curb
cautiously he steps down
onto the lifeless street
of craters and debris
without strength
without agility
the old man pushes himself
to move faster – to hasten
the event happens
a shot ring outs
the old man is hit
with the baggage of years
he drops to his knees, wavers
momentarily, collapses
onto one side.
a few seconds
a few heartbeats
the parade of life rounds the corner
the drum major jester
taunts the wounded codger
cruel and sarcastic mockery, desperately
the old man struggles to drag his bleeding
body along the asphalt
a few seconds
a few breathes
the sniper readies his weapon
for a second shot
he has learned to enjoy
the sport of killing
an unlit cigarette
hangs between the shooter’s parched lips
the sniper takes careful aim
the sniper squeezes the trigger
the snot rings out
the old man’s head explodes
the pointless murder of this
unarmed old man scavenging
nearly blind, on the graveyard street
does nothing
nothing to shift the course and
nothing to decide
the outcome of endless war
David Sparenberg is an eco-poet, essayist, storyteller, and World Citizen. He lives in Seattle, WA in the Pacific Northwest of the United States.
