Brett Gordon Batton

I spy my love

along the ridge,

a silhouette

in shadows of black.

I stand with my heart

a breakin’

‘fore I fear

he’s not coming back.

We were to be married

this autumn

but the war broke out

in June.

With brothers at odds

in the fighting,

I fear this is no

Civil tune.

Visions of blood, tears

and sorrow,

I fear he isn’t

so well.

I pray for the wake

of tomorrow,

and for my love,

I cast a spell.

I summon the thing

that shall not be named.

He appeared as a

“Really Loud and Partially Deaf”

dedicated to my Husband, Army Veteran Mark Batton

My wife brings up

a basket of laundry.

She doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t need to.

I know she despises folding laundry.

It’s a load of towels.

I grab one.

Warm and fresh-smelling.

I fold it in half,

then fold again,

the way it fits best

under the cabinet.

I’m driving the Humvee.

We’re on patrol in

the village. Alert, I eyeball

suspect sand.

It’s probably nothing,

but it could al