Waiting For It

When we have turned back to our
diminished slots and places,
when we have come home to our
lowly huts, our suburban homes,
our small inefficient apartments,
our boxes and tents on stray land —

when after all is said,
when the papers have been thrust upon us,
when they have holstered their guns
and smirked their way away from
the front they demanded to form
against us —

when we then turn and look into
their eyes, their frightened eyes
among our own; when we choose
a war, a prayer — anything, really,
anything against them — well, then damn.
The world has shifted, hasn’t it? Perhaps —

maybe things are different now; they still
have the guns, of course, and the laws,
and the attention and the grumbling willingness
of major parts of us; still — the world
has shifted toward us and we have something
to offer, even if it is only temporary;

even if
their guns —
and ours, of course —
don’t
stay silent
for very long.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T