Day 673

A child stands on a hill,
the remains of his city
stretching before him, behind him,
around him. Overhead, a parachute
falls from a plane. It will land
too far for him to run
and find what it carries: some boxes
of food, much of it inedible:
spoiled, moldy, not enough.
Unreachable, he knows: he watches it
touch ground, sees those
who are closer race to get it.
How many days since he’s eaten?
Since his small brother has eaten?
A summer day. A day when, in
another time, he’d be kicking a ball
on the beach with his friends.
Suddenly all he wants in this world
is the feel of sand under his feet,
the predictable thud of the ball
as it flies through the blue air.