“The Lieutenant’s a Hajji-lover!” you said.
For my empathy towards the tortured souls
Awash in the churn between us and the enemy,
Stuck. Maybe you were right.
.
Made me weak, you thought – too soft.
But in time sentiment felt for the innocents went,
As my eyes became deaf to their position and
Plight – just like to everything else.
.
And in May when it came calling, you saw;
Stomach contents emptied, woozy and unwell
Confronted up close with the man you just killed
The smell of blood, burnt flesh and cordite in the air.
.
That day you stood off to the side alone, by the Stryker
That day I stood over the bodies, and ate a granola bar.
We all get tested. Did I pass?
Did you?