A military man wraps his fury
in camouflage. Concealed,
the man must feel at home:
ordered, pressed, complete.
That is the point of a uniform—
to look sharp in garrison,
to salute the brass properly
without a wrinkle showing.
And what of the sewer grate
that catches in a soldier’s mind—
bolt and chamber—spark
pouring from a fresh M16
in fresh hands with fresh ideals,
firing bullets down a range
of plastic pop-up targets
that fall facedown in dirt
with each hit, only to spring
back to the way they were?
After a day of shooting,
the maggots chant: Blood
makes the green grass grow,
affirming the natural order,
as if smoke and lead are tools
for planting in the afterlife.
from BangaloreFind it in the library
Copyright © 2013 Kerry James Evans
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.