When all you get are fragments

Another attempt at a fragment poem for dverse.

When all you get are fragments

and then another one sails,
drifts, ash from a bonfire,
settling on the green, white wings folding
and hackles fluttering in the breeze,

while I take a sip of coffee,
radio blather breaking the silence
into brittle splinters.
The door slams

paint chips every time.
I’ve told her but she doesn’t care.
Anger always in the air
like cordite.
I wish

the weather would break
if the wind changed
blow away the dead weight of heat,
the sun so bright it hurts,
and in the limp shade
no birds sing, as if

the world was waiting for the end—
listen,
I hear the boots marching.