3rd Muse Poetry Journal TWhite

The Cold War

You looked so young then
with the bridle and the reins,
standing in the hills of straw.

Enemies--we had to share
the very bed we fought upon,
late at night when consequences
were unseen bugs alight.

I didn't know you by your large
brown eyes-- I turned away
to wander through my separate hell:

boom boom, the bombs that generals
planted in the earth,
I waited for the final hour
the blast would sound--

missiles arcing over our rumpled bed,
you on your side, while I stared up
at a hot white sky and died.