he watches the rain like it's alive but he feels less alive himself behind him the house turns dark its last light going off
don't turn back don't look back keep going ahead
and maybe another house and another wife will open up before you
or maybe there'll be another war coming and the nation will need your service again
this time the fear shall be less intense The first time someone points a gun at you you're terrified the second time's the same third forth and so on but eventually there comes a time when you run out of people to point guns at you
and none of them make you feel like her eyes watching from the window behind the curtains and no pulling of the trigger and no bang is like her voice screaming at the kid to go away, to not look
"A stranger! That's what the man outside is. And I'm calling the police if he keeps staring like that. DON'T! you dare look at him. Go to your room. Now."
What's a man when all the wars are over? A squirt gun against the sun.
His good hand, the one with whole and working fingers reached into an inner pocket of his uniform, found nothing.
He walked on And it rained on And there were no more wars