Going Home
We passed by broken,
black umbrellas thrown down
onto the dark, wet night
ground, crushed and smashed,
wretched and bent, and
amongst those the dead
birds we saw earlier tonight
in a flock flying
through a gathering
thundercloud.
I Imagine Two Men In The Trench
Lying in dry, bleached sand under the sun,
fading quickly with the horizon,
there is a moment to half-remember
the blurred photo of our departure,
gunfire in the distance
gagging like a lover;
the soldier next to me
is hit and dying.
The pinewood screeches
as it lowers in the ground
with a sound that feels familiar.
– Marc Rubin, Hoboken
To submit your work for consideration for the Back Page, e-mail poet Christine Goodman at info@arthouseproductions.org. Each poem should be no longer than 40 lines. Please include “Back Page poem” in the subject line.