I am writing this on the map 

To steady my trigger finger. 

It shakes now. They bombarded us 

Every night last week. I am 

The only shooter left, the worst one 

At the beginning of this mess, 

But now, by default, the best. I 

Remember a charcoal dirt path 

I took to a grotto. The mist 

And terns lifted off it slowly. 

I felt peaceful there. My scope shows.

Three of them now. When the fuel truck

Rolls in at sunrise, I’ll fire.