by Earl J. Wilcox
Dear Folks:
Today we arrived in Kabul
to teach for the next three years.
In back of our tiny compound
a lovely rose garden. Out front,
several charming guards with
AK47s, keen eyes, serene, alert.
Our bed tonight is hard, our
nerves of steel tested hourly
by barking dogs, roar of planes
powering overhead. When morning
at last comes, we are surprised
to find ourselves safe and sound.
Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. More of Earl's poetry appears at his blog, Writing by Earl.
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