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.
