a half-year of the sun doing the samba on your head

and you too would change your status to martyr

not the indestructible monster you thought you were

whipping battle plans from your back pocket like a 

modern Hannibal fast-tracking his way through the fronts 

carrying only a single vision of his future Cannae 

epic cemented.   if he'd known then if I'd known     those dreams

were mere fledglings   preludes   maneuvers   not formed   nor polished  enough

to even curl their fists   against what takes you down in the end...

in those lost traditions I prepare my final  directive    nighttime

sleek   amphibious  landing - reconnaissance be damned -

breaching shorelines penetrating     your silent   hostile   heavy  heart

*This is an example of an actual Otis.

photo courtesy of Jackie Rhoades

Diane Cambern grew up on the southwest coast of Florida - fishing, sailing, building rafts and forts, and learning to tell the difference between a dozen types of shark teeth. She has worked as a dog washer, bus person, cashier, photo lab technician, custom framer and designer, salesperson, gallery director, assistant DJ, and TaeKwonDo instructor. You can find more of her poems at