Soon
I'll have
to head back
No water left
Sack empty
Stomach growling
Prowling
the sand
Digging for news
or second
hand screws
To be weighed in
for scrap
or maybe
traded
for tokens
for time
at the tap
If I only
found lead
Instead
of half dead
I'd be made
for life
Knife
sharpened for
the food queue
We chew
our cheeks
Weeks without
real meat
Water ration
then urgent
passions spent
under canvas
in tents
venting anger
in rants
Stories then told
Bold knights
Fights won
and lost
And strange tales
from
the addled
old lingering
memories
of cities
like fingers
scratching
skies
I don't
believe it
Bunch of bullshit
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