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.