swinging metallic crutches

and his narrow frame form

a pendulum as he

steps… stops…

steps… stops…

along jetty

to palm-tree square


empty trouser fabric pinned neatly

in a flat rectangle

his remaining leg suffers the weight

of this hollow world


a blast beyond nightmares

in a jungle

thousands of miles

and years

from this twinkling esplanade


refusing to rest

on a peeling bench

a solitary soldier

and his crutches funeral- march toward

a darkened room where



he escapes the landmine’s orange anger

and wishes

he only

lost a leg


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