The Sniper
Feels like we’re being stalked.
Friends getting
picked off in a war with an invisible enemy.
We do everything we’re told
not to make ourselves targets.
We exercise, watch our diets,
but as we age, we move slower,
and their aim improves.
The group, we survivors,
meet for coffee in the morning.
We don’t take up as many tables
as in the past.
Before, somebody’d tell a joke,
another bragged about a good
golf game, show pictures
of a grandchild.
Now, it’s just slumped
shoulders and bowed heads.
Quiet, like soldiers
going to the front.
We sit and wait.
Wait to be selected.
If someone’s late,
We give each other
worried looks.
Makes me wonder,
what’s worse: to be next
or last.
.
Summer Love
Slouched in a fat couch,
legs intertwined;
the sun’s rays stroke their faces.
A noisy screen door lets
in the summer warmth.
Books sit unread on a wicker table.
Breezes embrace the lovers’ arms,
and they assume the breezes
will never leave.
But summers are short,
warmth fleeting.
Fall comes uninvited.
Doors slam closed
against the chill.
Clothes cover bare skin.
The sun turns shy,
distancing itself.
Leaves die, fall
in the season’s
first cold rain.
© Bruno Rescigna
Bruno Rescigna‘s writing credits include short stories published in Elysian Fields Quarterly and the Bucks County Writer, two one-act plays produced at the University of New Mexico. His poetry has been published by Arial Chart, Literary Yard, and the annual issue of Tidewater. One of his poems was selected for reading at the 2023 Summertide Festival and displayed for 12 months on the grounds of the Port Angeles Fine Arts Center. In addition, he was interviewed on the “Strength to Be Human” podcast hosted by Mark Rossi. He was also a finalist in 2021’s Tucson Festival of Books, a national poetry competition.
The Loch Raven Review 