Our Boy

Our boy wanted to fight For freedom. Our boy heard a story once About a soldier who came home And didn't remember the fight. Then one morning the soldier woke, Shot twelve kids and himself. Our boy is fighting For freedom. And he's just fine. He has a boy face, Boy blue eyes, Boy dark hair in tufts. A boy. No one hurts a boy. But himself. Our boy hears the Ch--ch--chopper blades every day, Ch--ch--chopper blades, ch--children rot. Hot blood. There are buzz--zz--zzing flies In his mind. And he drinks at night. They never said how clear desert mornings are In the capital of nowhere where his Where his where his where his thoughts echo. And our boy's day is like every other. Echoing thoughts, Rotting blood, Hangover. Tasteless something Slides down a choked throat. And our boy drifts Through marching In line To the beat Of the d--d--drum. And he drifts Through the day He is blind To the sun. Our boy gets to patrol. Four horsemen in a Humvee, Five if he counts himself, Trot from camp. Can our boy fend off exploding death? We'll see. He trembles like a puppy, As they near the seventh mile. Trembling on the empty road. Our boy relaxes, And he doesn't hear The click, the scream. And he doesn't see The milky orange in scarlet rain. And he doesn't feel Being ripped apart. The teeth of death. Puppets chatter in the box At five of a roadside bomb. One survivor. Unscathed. His superiors pinned his limbs together with medals Then swatted him aside to avoid Any sticky situations. They say if a soldier notices every detail detail detail detail dead-- His mind will sna-- Dead. So they brush off the detail detail detail dead. And let the rushing mind power down. Our boy is a ticking tock bomb. He wakes one morning, Shoots twelve kids, Then himself.