The War Face Down

The war is lying face down
on a hard cot. Legs twitch, 
breathing gets hard. I think
the war is dreaming much as

a dog dreams. People always say
a dog dreams of running when
they see its legs jerk like that.
Truth is, we don’t know what 

dogs dream and neither do we know
what the war is dreaming about
except that it is not likely
to be anything good. Not like peace

offers much more than the war
to everyone, certainly not
to those who fight, not 
to those who die, not to those

left behind. When the war lies
there on its face, kicking and
whimpering, all I can think of is
hope and hate: hope it doesn’t

turn over so I can see
its restless, mashed up face;
hate the idea of the war waking,
turning face up, seeing me.