you were not ready
But they issued the shovel and the rifle and you dug
But to watch you sitting there between the sandbags
But to watch the sand spilling out the bullet holes
But what did they expect
But what did they really think a sheet of metal could prevent
But I sat rolling little ears of pasta off my thumb like helmets
But it was not a table of fallen men
But my hand registered fatigue
But the men in fatigues were tired of sleeping in shifts
But you snuck into town and dialed home until you wrote your fingers
were tired
But the code for Shiraz was down
But all of Shiraz was down
But the sheet lightning above the Ferris wheel of rusted bolts
But I am sure they are alright you wrote Well to reassure yourself
But the wind like an old mouth shaking the unnamed evergreen outside
my window
But what I mean is I'd like very much to talk a bit
Hello