PAST
Trinh hides her daughters
When the soldiers approach
One after another
Each man heavier on her back
And the laughter louder
And the stench of cigarettes and beer
And sweat congeal
Like noxious gas trapped in the walls
Time is sucked like oxygen from the room
And all she can do is count
The tiny breaths of her children
As if to hold them under water
Lest their slightest sound ignite everything
FUTURE
Her daughter's Sydney kitchen
Salty breeze through open windows
School-uniformed grandsons
Shoot aliens with deft thumbs
Bathed in a plasma glow
Beer is sold on television
By invoking the memories of
Fallen military mates
And the sacrifices made by men
For future generations
#NaPoWriMo 2013 poem number 19
© Brendan Bonsack
April 2013