In armor, sweat, and skin, I sat
in the Humvee’s shell of steel.
Miles of traffic moved down the freeway,
north to Baghdad, engines shaking,
vehicles blurring against
A white car curved left, leapt the curb,
and came at us like the line of a bullet.
Jenkins traversed the 240, there were shouts
and shots—then I hovered high
above the roaring earth
on an orange bed of smoke
when the man’s body, gone at the torso,
twisted toward me, flailing out
his thin, dead arm, like he wanted
to hold my hand.
Copyright © BOA Editions, Ltd 2013
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on behalf of BOA Editions LTD.