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The Trench
In the yellow morning he stumbled back from the trench. It was just a half-step and elephantmasked men followed with guns through the cloud. Soon the haze rasped his throat and the waitingdock girls cheered. His eyes were next, they fell to fizzle, and he was miles away with a woman on each arm, returning by limousine with plans from the cocktail party. He would knot them soft in bed until they cried America.
appeared in Passages North