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The Occasional War (COVID the second time) Feb. 10, 2023

Gary Hunter

sickly old me

bundled under a winter sun

sipping tea

for a sore throat


my nose drips

exactly like tears would

as if sickness is

a sadness too


as if the body

mourns itself

and the flowers

it can’t smell


but I sense a force rising

shriveled as my position is

hunched in this chair


in the core of my being

flashes from gun barrels

the sound of boots advancing


this is my army

in the occasional war

of taking no prisoners

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