the thick of it he faced the gun, regardless wheat
is sometimes never known. Regardless what he did
or did not do, his wounds anoint him here.
One night nine months into my time, both Julio
and I gained Purple Hearts - he for his life, I for
a broken nose. While Julio napped, I lay beneath
mosquito net and read. A pair of rookies on
perimeter interpreted a couple bursts
of A-K clatter, harassment fire from beneath
their sand-bag parapet, and whoosh of rocket gone
up past their heads into the dark must mean that we
were being overrun. Without a clue, the new
lieutenant called in arty. Then a single round
fell short and shredded Julio in front of me,
and tore a couple tents apart, knocked me to ground.
Attending him, I got so drenched in Julio's blood
they threw me on the helo too. I didn't mind;
but loading us, they smacked his head against and broke
my nose. The whole flight back I watched this wretched flood
of Julio's blood commingling on the deck with mine
and I could not distinguish mine from his. I choked
on wishing and regret it wasn't me instead
of Julio; and yet I knew our soggy clothes
and hands and faces bathed in both our blood bound us
as one. Then, without a vital wound, he died --
bled out of all the pain and fear and love that flows
in every vein, while I, without a scratch, found I
was scarred for life. I do not let a day go by
without two beers, a mug for Julio and one
for me. Once he's forgiven me for staying here,
I pour mine on the red azalia. Do not try
to understand why when you ask the question, none
will answer straight. How can such dreadful fire be Friendly
in combat with the enemy? How do we shoot
ourselves and drop a heavy round on us to kill
a Julio and gut a man like me? And why
will no one speak of a mistake - it's no salute
to carelessness admitting something's wrong; yet still
we cover up and bury it, as though the sky
itself would fall if we should speak the truth..
If you would truly understand, then come and drink
a beer with me and pour one on this little tree
that I have planted to remember him, to soothe
the wounds of friendly-fire fallen, and I think,
their relatives kept in the dark by such as me.