“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?