Armistice
The general came to casino row last night,
blessing the boats with his trigger finger
and signing peace to the riverside,
starry-eyed, watching the planes take flight,
free and silver against the dome.
Magic left his soldier clothes behind.
He walked with the silence of a priest
and lit his cigarettes like a spy,
with his card, waving, buying kegs of wine
for the refugees in cool black clothes.
A new kind of mother’s milk ran through town
that evening. The lamps made love to faces
stooped at the bar; slot machines sounded
in windows, an invitation sent down
to the hangers-on. The general strode
past cracks into the shine of the city square
where the banners hung, shouting armistice;
the children of casualties lined the stairs,
dollars in pockets, nations in their hair
and skin. None of them blinked or spoke
as he climbed the steps, the glint of wire in his bones,
asking the women the way to church
so he could set his hand on a soul
carved out and polished. They sent him, alone,
as the troop melted in pace behind.
In the loft, the drifters woke to neon on shades.
One prayed, took his pulse. One rose to meet
the procession, dressed, threw open the drapes
and stood with his scars at the windowpane,
charmed by the brush of feet on stone.
Below him, the watchmen sat with their radios on,
buzzing with rage, the voices cracking
unanswered. The second hands ticked toward dawn.
But the general beckoned and sent his bronze
through the crowd, his dog tags glistening cold.
We tracked him, the two of us, and thanked him with smiles,
then left when he vanished. Our skin still shook.
We drifted home to the warm high rise,
awake and poor another Saturday night,
and retreated to our separate rooms.
*First published in College Town (Tebot Bach, 2010)
Michael Miller is the co-founder of Moon Tide Press, the author of five books of poetry, and a former entertainment and community news journalist for the Los Angeles Times. He currently teaches English and coordinates the visiting-author program at St. Cyril of Jerusalem School in Encino, California. You may read more about him and visit his blog at www.michaelmillerpoet.com.
