My mind is elsewhere again today, so I'm afraid it's another journey through my back catalogue. We'll try afresh tomorrow.
War
Biographer
The War paces
back and forth,
restless in
his agitation.
“I’m not all
bad, you know?” he says,
turning to
me, his hands wrung almost to powder.
“I had a life
once; parents. Lovers.
But you can’t
escape destiny, can you?”
He lights a
Camel cigarette, sits down to regroup.
Across his
face I see the scars so chronicled:
the small,
country-shaped burns,
the trenches
gouged into his forehead.
His eyes
never stop moving.
I find myself
drifting across his map.
He’s on his
feet again, snapping me back.
“Let’s talk
tactics,” I say.
“Must we?
There’s so much more to me than that.”
“Okay,” I
consider him for a moment. “Favourite book?”
“The Bridges
of Madison County.”
Unexpected. I
cross and uncross my legs.
“Movie?” I
ask.
“Basic
Instinct.”
Are we flirting right now?
The War gazes
out of the window,
his fingers
hung from the end of his hands
like long
stems of wheat.
“You know,
I’m a very wealthy man,” he says.
“So I’ve
heard.”
“I have a
condo in the heart of every human being.
I could take
you to yours if you like?”
His eyes are
trained on me
and black as
bullets.
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