Trenches

“Lay still, don’t move” were the thoughts in his mind, When the enemy shot overhead, He demanded he not move a muscle at all, Else he’d wind up being all dead, And he lay there alone, isolated from harm, Not attracting a bullet his way, With snap ricochets of invisible dots, Flying outside every day, Hours to days to weeks walked on by, Till the coughing of bullets slowed on down, When he dared to raise his head from his trench, To see all over his town, The bodies of people, death laying still, More dead than he’d ever seen, After the war of “us” versus “it”, After the war with COVID nineteen. Entered into Julie Liegh Quarantine contest written first week of quaranteen in Australia