Poetry

The sun hangs red like a ball
and the high shooting tower skeleton
against the setting sun
 
and in the distance
there are the flames of Impala warplanes
where they take off
one after another into the night
 
and later there are a few puma helicopters
that land chattering
and the seven sisters and the southern cross
shine brightly above me
 
and I wonder
what God thinks about man and his wars
while a red beacon winks
on and off at the tower.