Two Poems

Traffic Control Point

                                        In armor, sweat, and skin, I sat

                                     in the Humvee’s shell of steel.

          Miles of traffic moved down the freeway,

      north to Baghdad, engines shaking, vehicles blurring

                    against ghosts of the pavement’s heat.

Want to read the rest?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.