His dusty breath is arid,
His inhalation tastes like the clay ground.
It’s humid, he’s baking in the Sahara.
All alone in the desolation,
With a bullet-ravaged SUV.
Sunglasses hiding his thoughts,
Vest as his shield,
Artillery as his friend,
Helmet hard and unfaltering.
As he stands alone in the desert
He is at peace with the scorch of day.