WRONG PLACE, RIGHT TIME

So it was just a garbage trawler
hauling the refuse
of numerous planets
to the dumps
in the outer galaxies,
wandering into
that battlefield by accident,
and no one knows whether or not
they did themselves proudly
as the ship blew to pieces
in the crossfire
because it was all over
within seconds
but it was the sight of the trash
exploding in a
ravenous burst of flame
that did it,
boxes and cans and papers
scattered across the universe,
items so familiar and laughable
to the combatants
that these Altairian
and Unisynthian warriors
stopped their fighting
for one breath-stealing hush
as if these were the pieces
of their own lives,
the meaning beyond armor,
beyond the wretched scars
of ancient hatred,
scribbled across inky space,
floating away from them forever
in scorched containers,
on the backs of shredded news.

—John Grey

Another online poem by John Grey
can be found, courtesy of
Crossroads magazine,
by clicking here

Or follow this link to yet another online poem by John Grey.

All rights to this poem belong to its author.

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