1984
By: Les Kay

In Safeway, a boy in a black cap slips
quarters into slots to buy new lives.
He loops his bomber past pixel tracers
from digital MiGs, pounding his fingers
numb on red buttons. A burst of flack
grazes the wing, and his money is done.
 
Outside, a swept-wing B-1 banks
above suburban rooftops, trembling
lace-curtained windows. The Lancer
touches down behind razor wire, searing
rubber into tarmac as it screeches to a halt.
 
For a better view of the base, the boy
clambers up a dogwood, blooming cloud-white.