Nancy L. Meek


I killed another one of our enemy yesterday
as you drove home, humming along the way
as you turned the radio to your favorite song,
not to the news on how we were getting along.

I shot another in the head and watched him die
as you fell asleep later under a peaceful sky
as I examined another to ensure he was dead,
you rearranged the pillows beneath your head.

I ran for cover as you woke to use the john,
then shot another as your paper hit the lawn
as you drank your coffee, sparkling in the sun,
a car bomb exploded and we lost another one.

We zipped him up as you carefully washed your face
as you stared in the mirror for anything out of place
as his remains were being loaded onto the plane;
you plucked your nose hairs, wincing at the pain.

I lost a leg, my right one, and the vision in one eye
as you rinsed your coffee cup and toweled it dry
as you jumped in your car, ready for another day,
they saluted caskets in secret, or so they say.