Iraq, A Moment
by David Grundy

Recon team's humvee takes a hit and rolls.
Confusion, fear, dust, heat.
Strangling liquid cries.
"Why is it so dark in here doc?"
"What happened?, someone tell me what happened"
"My eyes! What's happened to my eyes!?"
"What do we do with his arm? They can sew it
back on now right?"
Hot sweet slaughterhouse smell
"Someone tell me what happened!"
Dancing and flowing through the precise moments
of the work. The Calvary stations of my craft.

"Oh no you don't!"
"You are NOT dying here!"
"Not in MY ER!"

At the LZ someone forgot to secure the long white
sheet of exam table paper hanging from the end of
one of the stretchers and in the fierce prop wash
from the Blackhawk it tears loose and rises and
hangs in the air in two vast startling calligraphic
curves against the shimmering amber sky.

Back at the barracks I sit and lean against the wall
and slowly peal and eat a perfectly ripe mango,
listening to the air conditioner hum, at rest.
And it would be impossible to describe, at this
moment just what I feel.
I think there is no word for it.

Outside in the camp darkness, I hear quiet conversation,
gentle laughter.
My boots and socks thrown in the corner
are soaked through with blood.

Copyright © 2006 - David Grundy
Published: 12/7/06   ·  Author's Page   ·  Next Poem