Sunday, January 29, 2012

765. Body Bags

Body Bags

How am I to decide whose parts are whose?
The mortuary Marines will need
to piece together the remains,
and what's never recovered
will be shaded black on their paperwork.
But there are so many parts,
and I can’t tell who's Taliban,
or civilian,
or a brother I loved.
I pick up the blackened fingers
in the gasoline mud,
and the pieces of the charbroiled carcass
that don’t crumble when I lift them;
I grab the thigh-less legs,
boots still attached,
and the jawbone.
I hold the body bag over my shoulder,
unimpressed by the weight
of what remains
of mighty men.

Spent 7.62 Brass

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All written content ©Dario DiBattista 2012. All posts are for display purposes only and not to be considered published.

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