Soldier by RaeAnn Kime
Your face is blank as a white sheet of paper
with nothing written at all and your eyes are plain
brown river pebbles in your shaved head. You soldier
on honing every muscle to eliminate a point of entry
and you check regularly that everything is in place,
tightened, hardened, shellacked, secured and ready for
battle. You have bronzed it over complete and I am prepared,
too. If trapped, I have a pen so I might draw myself on
your shiny surface. You will be distracted by these flaws,
wiping me off and blotting me out and I will slide away.
But I will not polish myself to death in this hot house with
not enough water for the too many warriors who encase themselves
here, and if there is a vulnerability in your painted-on armor
I won’t be the one to find it. I don’t look.