Guerrilla Moon
On nights as this with such a moon
He fuels his mind with death and killing,
Kindles fire in his olive black eyes
To guide his foggy feet away from safety,
Through the catches and by the cobra's hiss,
A purr of movement to deliver a scorpion kiss.
Give him his due, he knows you are there,
If you would survive, then be aware and
And filter your world for clues; he will.
His final approach will be stealthy and slow,
Inching past your trip flares and evening's dung,
He has a victory when his satchel is flung,
For if he dies, the message still is clear:
The struggle will go on at least another year.
Even if you survive, you cannot break even;
You are changed, no longer you -.
Reborn to a new reality, a new gravity,
Forever orbiting old battlefields.
Even if you survive, you cannot break even.
Bob Kon, original date lost, but last stanza on Nov 15, 2020, looking back.