TWO IMAGES

In my dreams you wear the army

uniform, a belt, and knee-high boots.

Your pair of short braids jumps a little

as you stride around fearlessly.

In a husky voice you give orders

while shells burst like blossoms far away.

People say you are a born general.

In reality you look like an elegant lady.

Your lilac skirt floats across

the quiet plaza before a church.

Your heels knock the stone slabs

washed glossy by a spring shower.

Your voice is the wings of doves

waving in the sunshine.

Your figure draws so many admiring eyes.

Which one of them are you —

a fierce officer or a refined lady?

I hope you are neither.