The Lookout
The Lookout by Robert Guzman
The Lookout
grey skies and black sand below
two eyes open, a yawn and then closed
a twelve hour stand against the waves
the rising sun sets the pupils ablaze
look, horizon, forever flat-lined
the fog of memory is a mentor, blind
quiet, the guns that will never fire
the silent battle amongst concrete and wire
he waits, watches for a ship to arrive
something to break the repetitive tides
forever he searches for signs of life
there is no victory in a war that won’t die
back to the barracks to sleep off the strain
eyes without purpose, a death with no name
