Alan Dunnett


Civil War


Start


This is what we did: we crossed the river

under the shifting light.  Everything else seemed

the same but we knew nothing would ever


be the same again.  I turned to Kimble

and he smiled.  What's next to do?  Burn the land.

Destroy bits of ourselves that are not him.


Some nights, I fail to remember reasons

or else remember them as dead things, things

I could make an effort to understand just


in a grim way.  With fingertips, I press

my brain but it is not understanding.

It is memory, an arterial


injunction determined lifetimes ago,

disconnected by natural erosion

from passion.  However, it is easy,


then, or easier, to deploy.  Duty

and practice give the professional touch.

If I get home, I might sleep a little


but for now, with the river behind us,

I am inhaling smoke.  They say he's mad

and will last the winter.  I cannot tell


what comes with spring.  Renewal, even-handed,

draws from the young light without distinction.

You smile, Kimble, and note the wind has changed.


Early (Bloody) Incursions


We took the first city last night.  I looked at

my hands missing a piece of comprehension

and said to Kimble: what now, Kimble, what


are we doing, these are our people, what now?

Already, the phone is ringing.  New friends

want to show support.  They sort of believe


what they are saying.  I know I said no

going back.  I know what I said.  I knew

in my heart there would be no going back.


Maybe it was the boy, staring without

a father now.  Am I his history?

Anyway, we go forward.  That is clear.


They are sending virgins in white dresses

but first Oh God we must burn and destroy.


Practical


I denied the child and in different ways

said you were another person.  Beneath

the caff light, I explained I was going


to Lima on an expedition.  Back

whenever.  How much money do you need

assuming I admit to this?  How much


does it cost?  In the time it takes to drink

one more black coffee, we shall resolve things.

Last night, a man shot at me.  London's not


what it was.  You could die in an instant

that is immeasurable.  Stop your coughing.

Let me sort the coffee and then we leave


separately.  A reconsideration

would be too much.  Do not now speak of love.



Alan Dunnett © 2009