Monday, August 17, 2009

My early morning run

The platoon advances up the beach
a slippery, sideways pincer movement,
armour glistening black against the wet sand.

The leader calls a halt. Something approaches.
Thunder in the distance and the sand shakes.
Warily, they retreat and as the sound increases,
turn and run for cover ... a rout.

From their foxholes in the sand, eyes peer on stalks
at the early morning jogger
pounding along the beach.

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