My mind is elsewhere again today, so I'm afraid it's another journey through my back catalogue. We'll try afresh tomorrow.
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.
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.