I first saw the child a few weeks ago, our Humvees all in a row,
Spread apart just so, so as to not get all taken out.
It was my first time driving urban terrain, and I was highly strung,
On alert for IEDs, the wired ones.
We watched for observers that might call ahead to a triggerman.
I was watching for anything and everything
In an area that I had never been.
The first 100 days are the worst.
What looks right is never right, and what looks wrong...
The unit before had "gone native," complacent,
We were the new guys…an unknown.
They must test us, and we them.
Driving into town, trash all over,
Air thick and putrid, with sewage.
It appeared there were explosives everywhere,
According to how we had been trained.
They could be the boxes, large rocks, fresh potholes,
Burnt tires, piles, of loose dirt.
As we turned a corner I noticed: movement to the right
Sprinting faster than I'd ever seen.
I followed the silhouette from a spot of brush and trees to a hut,
Through the desert and toward the road.
It was a child about as old as my oldest son,
Running as fast as his young legs could move.
Then there were dozens,
Coming out of nowhere and everywhere.
Their hands up over their heads, fingers raised,
They brought their hands to their mouths.
What would we throw?
They readied themselves.
(But we had nothing.)
The little boy collapsed to his knees,
And I saw my oldest boy fall to the ground.
I have to go away, I had told him.
For the first time, in a long time, my mind fell
Silent.