by Rhonda Jury
Glenora is on fire—wine country. Maple trees blaze: amber, lime and peach.
Explosions rape the daylight hours, while uniformed troops gather on hill tops
formulating strategy, talking of near misses.
This theatre of war consumes all of twenty trenched acres
littered with fences, nets, and barbed wire.
Thirty days of battle and the air strikes continue—the enemy relentless.
Lifeless figures perch unnaturally in the field, reminding attackers of impending
doom. Targets, plump and ripe, feel no pain.
A glorious sunrise forty days in marks the final acetylene explosion.
And the murder of crows moves on.