Two Poems by Anthony Liccione

full nights moon

i take the trail, to a tailed
foxhole where scared
boys clench their teeth
and weapons
on a bed of dirt and forest
of barbwire fence,
holding the hot handle
in their sweaty hands,

almost like a few summers
back before enlisting,
having their first
sex encounter and
shooting their load
fast in the uncertainty
and awe of a woman’s
curve, body bending
over like a tree,
breasts as red delicious
apples hanging limp
to be licked, bitten, tasted
for death, as young men

wish mum is by side
while the ricochet
of other boys shooting
their bullets at them,
empting their guns
and minds, and ghosts
that cross the night fields
as smoke,

cigarettes are scarce here
and canteens are almost dry,
thoughts come in a
no-promise-home return,
as one is kissing the cross
of his necklace,
watching the words
become a blotch
of blue ink from the rain
spitting and running
on the letter,
his wife wrote him
chewing the fat
of lust,
saying she misses most
of all is their sex.

clear end

the crystal clear water
rain nailing the surface
where teenagers would swim
to catch their breath before the days heat,
as vampires and misquotes
and dragonflies would hide in
the shaded trees,
there was a fall there last week
when someone jumped off
burned their last bridge above,
where cars stopped to beckon her
not to take a sparrows life,
wife of a carpenter who built
their house of logs and tar,
wood that would catch fire someday
she saw something promising
dropping the hammer and
diving through
one hundred and fifty feet
of fogged consciousness
to the clear end below,
how fear was strong and brief
teeth sinking into the loose gravity
of quivering lips and hands on gravel,
only to let go.

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