Hey, my friend,
I’ve been painting winter.

Scenes from our summertime.

Remember Beirut?
Only, then it was Bethlehem or Jerusalem
or some such vision that made sense of the mayhem.

Baked potato drunk on rooftops,
spies in covert skies witnessed as we
strained, heaved, fought and deceived,
never expecting a-trophy.

But it came all the same,
delivered and devoured by friends infused
with the rage of an age
and drizzled
in cynical green.

~ EB