In time of war, things fit to you tightly:

No bagginess, no slack, no loose surplus.

War exposes us as human beings,

And makes us face ourselves for what we are.

The carnival starts; you put on your mask

And chase the local girl. Later, waking,

You hear a distant cry from your old friend,

Pleading for your help through the gas and mud.

But you are too warm; she is beside you,

Keen as a whip. The cry melts into silence.

Next day comes the knock. Sad entertainers

Dance quietly around the carousel.

In the mirror, you see your guilty grin

Fall down backwards, to where no one hears you.