OP GHOSTWALK

By Bob W Christian

I’ve learned to grin where the ground coughed fire.

The shockwave a violent handshake

Where night stitched shrapnel into our sleep.

Not because it was easier,

But because the dark pressed harder.

Out there, laughter was contraband.

We smuggled it between heartbeats;

Called the crater a pool with a view…

Rated incoming rounds for their customer service;

Gave the Grim Reaper a nickname so he felt less like family.

My jokes were tourniquets -

Crude, necessary, cinched tight

Against the bleed.

You heard cruelty, I heard a pulse

When the wind dragged smoke through my lungs again.

Now, when the silence turns metallic and tight,

I pull a punchline like a pin,

And lob it gently into the memory.

It splits the silence open,

And the ghosts hit dirt on instinct.

And I laugh, so that the dark remembers:

I made it out.

#DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony