recoil

A speciality in

Disarming me.

My rifle, tightly clutched

to my slingshot,

despite your pulling and

your yank thank you’s.

And then you.

Brush it off without the polish.

Lying in prone, amid stinging nettles.

Face down into weeds.

Trousers catch on thorns.

Skin stitched with burrs.

Fingertips without feeling,

Right shoulder bruised from the recoil.

Bones cold.

But still, you wake me up as sentry

With a kiss

For a war like ours.

#poetry #poem #abstractpoetry #militarypoetry #warpoem #katiehargreaves #newpoetry