the victors [poem]

she sits
atop the
shattered bunker
looking out
over the sea

the bright day
just warm enough
for her
to forgo
clothes

beneath
her long
brown legs
the worn
angular
ruins
jut forward
towards the sea
a great grey
giant skull

a century earlier
young men
not much older
than she
filled with
hard hate
slaughtered
each other
on this beach 

she is
no longer
a girl
but not yet
a woman

she was
born here
but her parents
came from afar 

a blond boy
her age
and similarly attired
jingles
some coins
in his hand
“would you like
ice cream?”
he asks

“sure”
she says
and climbs down
to get something
sweet
to eat 

©  Buzz Dixon