A car door slammed reminds the young man of the dammed

His eyes show fear and freeze

He has all his limbs yet he’s frightened of a sneeze

 

He stands, he walks he offers you a cold clammy hand

But all talk of what he does

and where he has been are banned

The shells the bullets, the noise still fill his thoughts

Like a stain

A continuous film running fast, slow,

sometimes caught in freeze frame

 

He tries to cry but the tears will not come,

His mother, his father all deny

What has happened to their son.

He is almost silent

Remaining in his world, not hearing any word of

Encouragement or solace

 

In his heart, in his head the smoking gun remains

His hand still stained with blood of the boy he shot

Just one bullet from a gun still hot.

That’s all it took a moment

From a rash and hesitant movement

 

There’s no blame attached

Except by himself

Another soldier, drilled, skilled and taken off the shelf

Bright shiny, full of promise and brand new

Ready, twitchy, nervously waiting for his cue

For the time to pull the trigger

Pointing the gun, pointing the blame

Put into the frame

 

Defending his country

A hero he is called preserving a way of life

Exchanging one life for another,

Never really knowing who he was

That helpless and dead any other

Who could at any other time be called an Uncle or a brother