Thursday, April 14, 2016

Tukarov



















Tukarov was dead;
it seemed like only yesterday
we had danced at his wedding,
now his body lay quiet,
face down in the mud,
a gaping hole where
his chest had once been,
ripped apart by a 50 caliber shell
from a sniper’s gun;
I wondered if he had felt anything,
as the bullet ripped through
his flesh,
tearing out pieces of his lungs
with it,
it couldn’t have been much
I thought,
he was dead before
he even hit the ground,
perhaps it was better this
way,
only a few months earlier
he had lost Ulena
in an air strike,
after that he had never
been the same;
“we must do something,
we must fight back,
we must not die like
sheep”;
he had insisted,
convincing me to
join the ‘cause’ with him,
now I could not
remember what
the ‘cause’ was,
only that I was cold
and afraid,
as I sat with the rest
of our patrol,
listening to our commander
brief us on tomorrow’s
raid,
wondering when this
nightmare would ever end;
Tukarov was dead,
long live Tukarov.
.
.

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