That tiny scarlet rivulet
descending from his bayonet
displays a horrid etiquette,
so minimal, it’s barely wet.

He lights himself a cigarette
with no remorse and no regret.
Overhead, he hears the jet
and speaks to it from his headset.

Mere days from now, a wife will set
out pieces of a wee layette
on the counter of her kitchenette
not having had the visit yet

that minutes later she will get.
Her country is much in her debt
for the end her husband met
caught in the enemy’s cruel net.

Her hopes and dreams they can’t reset
with military etiquette.
No lesser arms do to abet
tears falling in a rivulet.

The prompt today is rivulet.

15 thoughts on “Rivulet

  1. okcforgottenman

    This is a REALLY powerful poem and statement for me! I’ve had to read it several times to confirm how it justly and deeply conveys (to me) that horrid intimacy of war. Just brilliant, Dear, and one of your best, I think! (Oh, and you taught me a new word: layette.)

    Liked by 1 person

  2. lifelessons Post author

    Thanks, Reflections. Sometimes in necessity but all too often just in the name of “honor” or for the satisfaction or greed of old men willing to sacrifice the young for their own needs



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