Lloyd Edge, in France

It’s an endless cycle,
war,
an attempt at peace,
the next war.

This one
is supposed to stop the cycle.
I only want to survive it,
get back to Oklahoma.

My buddy and I hide in the hay,
listen to the French farmer talking to the German soldiers.
I wish I could understand.
Is he saying no one’s here.
He wouldn’t be lying. I’m a no one,
an eighteen-year-old orphan
who knows horses and hard work.

We stay hidden until the farmer comes,
says it’s safe to leave.
His wife feeds us before we go,
shares their scanty stores.

We live another day.
And the war goes on.

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