Which was worse,

The American Army 

assault weapon thrust in face

outside of The Pentagon

in the dog days

of August 2003, the soldier

demanding to know what I was doing,

or the snipes of the personal

critic, the locust

chirping in my ear,

wondering how I spend

my time, which is rightfully mine

anyway.

It came perhaps late in life

the urge to shut the door

quietly,

not with drama,

not

out of spite,

but for my own peace of mind,

to keep the noise down to a minimum

and keep

writing out of earshot.

To express time in notes,

pence and the bond of suffering

as you shake your head

from side to side, an out of time

metronome

click click click

clicking as a tongue biting down

desperate to fill the space

and ask what do I do behind

closed doors…

…I think the young fellow

with rifle raised was less

interested in my reasons,

as I remember him

sweating and angry,

another person to emerge

as a character as I continue

writing out of earshot.

Ian D. Hall 2020