Howie Good The Invisible War The sirens startle us. We sit up in bed, only to lie back down. It's five in the morning. Our faces are next to each other, close enough for a kiss. We exchange medieval looks of fear and doubt. When we wake up again, the sun is screaming. The daytime drinkers glare at us through the window as we walk past Sal's Place holding hands. Unless it isn't us they're seeing, but the gunships pounding over the rooftops, the infant later found crawling about the rubble in a harness like a seeing-eye dog.

"A Warp For Walking" - Francis Raven

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