He returns home dreaming of brown hills filled with snipers
Dreaming of attack, retreat, and the buddies who have his back.
Dreaming of children armed with homemade explosives
all of them torn apart,
bleeding by his gun or others.
You wait at the airport, excited and happy
laughing about having a day in bed with your man
washing away the year of loneliness and terror
in semen and sweat.
Imagining that a smooth belly, firm breats
will be enough to exorcise the demons that haunt
imagining that he who left returns the same.
Dreaming of domesticity, kind words, and forever more
Pretending that the next time out will never come
Pretending that all will be fine.
The plane lands on the tarmac.