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