DOBRO

 

That shiny steel guitar

he got eventually

was what he'd always wanted;

just to play the blues.

 

I killed so many people, he said,

was called up twice, unfairly

because of skill in martial arts

 

and when we took a town

would often be the first to enter

but the bullet-proof vests,

they never came.

 

I should be dead by now

along with all those comrades.

 

but instead I sit here

choosing plectrums, bottle necks,

breathe miraculous air.

 

 

Published in Poesis Novae Litterature,  issue 4, January 2019.