Lawrence Hall
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                   Among Sandbags at 2200 Hours –
                     The Enemy Might be Listening

We were smoking and talking: girls, of course
And cars, and whether we would live, and then
Tolkien, Lewis, the nature of the Good
Poetry, free verse, blank verse, Cohen, McKuen

An officer barged along and sat himself down
And asked us what we were talking about
We mumbled noncommittal inanities
And then were mostly silent, blowing smoke

He may have concluded that we were stupid
Or that we were those radicals he’d heard about