Instant Noodles at Dusk

Instant Noodles at Dusk

Dusk’s last breath puff up the curtains
in a flash of the post traumatic kind.
A crocheted-cliché,
peach-purple duvet
drapes the mountains in war paint;
Redwood generals’ shadows on attention,
and disorderly Pine infantrymen
struggling against the wind
(some broken, most wounded),
shattered limbs on display.

The war hero sighs into the bowels
of an instant noodles cup;
dumplings shiver
((uncooked liver))
when he whistle-whispers untold stories
of courage
and guts
served on government-sponsored battlegrounds;
no-one listens,
save spiders with hairy legs
that hang on his every word.

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