Deserting from the army
He wrote a poem to me
In German…
“Your hair is like summer trees,” he translated.
It was.
I had a premonition
seeing the MPs take him,
His shiny military shoes,
muddy.
He was bent on rescuing me
I understood the fantasy
A cool adventure,
a diversion.
But I longed to make my own decisions or
be rescued by someone
who offered more choices.
Was it a Hail Mary for himself?
His last desperate effort to get away with deserting.
To get the heck out of here before they
Figured out where he was?
Was he using me as an identity shield?
Not in a bad way,
Upon drowning
You reach for any buoyant object.
Unaware of the high stakes drama in his life
I was hyper focused on my own world falling apart
Had my rejection pushed him to give himself up
to the authorities?
Was I his last chance at buoyancy?