Mark I. Kirkmeyer


All dressed up
Black boots o’er Jungles
Charcoal pants and blouse
Mask and hood taped down
Black gloves on hands
Breathing like Darth Vader
Enter the mountain town
Silence is deafening
Stillness even in the air
Mourns the tragedy here
Bodies lay where they fell
Mothers clenching their young
Blisters bubble on the skin
Bursting in the mid-day sun
Wondering what on the inside
The attack had done
Stench of death and rotting
Broken by perfume and gum
Duty done in silence
Never spoken of once it’s done.