First was the panic
The frantic dispersal
Screams above the steady
Death-delivering pock pock pock
The mind stops working
Later- space between the crisp reports
Me among the dead,
dread sweat clammy,
slimy with my comrades blood
trying to not move
to shallow-breathe
imperceptibly
The squelch of his boots hard by
Pock
Pock
He pokes among the limbs
I smell the carbine
Feel the shot in the gut.
My bowels tell me
my life is null,
And void.
