XXII For a war
journalist-photographer
When you’re not with me I’m the poorest shot,
I’m bound to miss you. I think to search,
Without you how I could aim and miss not.
I took routes, highways, rough lanes, research
To find what way that you are my target,
The eye; in these routes there is a common price,
That one would lose sight is the compromise.
What else when one shoots the eye should one get?
For you I will take a shot in the eye
And then cover it up with a black patch
Like a crime, then stride like a proud villain,
Even as a model in arr’gant march
Across the runway of a coming plane,
That you cost me an eye before I die.
No comments:
Post a Comment