Dropping Bombs

“Let’s eradicate this cancer,
drop your bombs
and wipe it out!”
The nurse smiles at his
enthusiasm, amazed at his positive
attitude — stage four,
telling jokes very day — as she
inserts the needle and releases
the poison hope.
She was working third shift
in the ER last night when they brought
the boy in, maybe seventeen,
needle marks between his toes.
He kept mumbling “one more
bomb, just one more…” until
his eyes rolled back. His parents
never suspected he had
experimented,
much less graduated.
She cried
in the car between shifts,
pausing between sobs when
the jets passed overhead,
wanting to be strong.
He had called Wednesday night,
warned her it would be a while
before they talked again, time
to get to work.
Around Mosul and on both sides
of the Syrian border nervous eyes
scan the skies, wondering
if political promises will come
to fruition.
I was walking the dog
in the front yard when the nurse
across the street pulled in
her drive — at about the same time
she had left the day before —
gave me a weak smile
and wave as she hurried into
the house.
The bomb the dog left
on the lawn seems to define
the whole damn mess.

Advertisement