Fire Drill

There will be no bombs today.
Slowly you crawl to the earth,
Unperturbed by rain or fire.
Now you are parallel with worms.
Now you plant your watermelons.
Your fingers are smudged
With yesterday’s clay
Yet you lick on it after a mouthful
Of rice, tomatoes. Supple supper.
Lick. Lick. Something clicks
On the left hand side of the kerosene lamp.
It is the voice of a distant cannonball.
You yawn, put on your pajamas
And hug the rifle under the covers.