night patrol.

the sun has set
and I am pulling short puffs
from an American Camel Light;
inhale quick hits of something familiar,
something my body knows
has known
spent years adapting to.

the wind has begun to come in hard
from somewhere far to the west.
Egypt, Palestine, Syria;
maybe somewhere nice like the Mediterranean coast
of a country bent on pleasure and excess alone,
Monaco. Yes, Monaco would be nice.

the wind has begun to come in hard
bringing dust and sand.

the city glows orange.
the hazy cast of a place unsure of itself.
the power is on tonight
feeding bright lights shining their heaven glow
on the domes and minarets of mosques which spot the city
like watchtowers with voices.

I am inside the wall,
inside the wire,
feeling the weight of my kit
rise and collapse
on my chest and shoulders
with each mouthful
of warm grey smoke.

the Lieutenant is talking,
repeating again
what we can quote him in our sleep, cold.
ROE
Shout Show Shove Shoot
Cas-Evac
Infil / Exfil
Commo Freaks
TCP procedures
TTPs
PCCs
PCIs
S2 briefs
IED threats
bolo lists.
things that only matter here,
or if we are unlucky,
on the news.

inhale. hold. exhale.

the wind has begun to come in hard,
we’ll have trouble seeing tonight.
night vision will be spotty,
targeting lasers will be inhibited,
target identification,
close quarters communication,
things will be a little more complex.

if anything happens.

there is something
in his voice
which says he has a plan.
something that makes me think
he may put us in the situation tonight
where it is necessary to kill men.
maybe women or children, if they force us to.

I want to smoke another cigarette
get a cup of coffee, maybe,
before we roll,
but
it is time
to hit the city.
all dressed in my gear,
this is the hottest outfit this season
for being seen out in Sadr City.
the nightlife can be hot,
you always want to look your best.

I’d kill a man
to go out to the club
drink a beer
nod my head to a deep bass beat
and watch my wife dance.

fuck.
I’d kill more than one man.

I am in the lead
which is where I want to be.
I am in control
of tempo
of pace
of breaking through
and getting us where we need to be.

I kill the lights
and watch the city pass me by
in the eerie psychotic green
of my night vision goggles.
I turn corners by feel alone,
can only see so much through my monocle,
drive by faith
understanding of the road
a sense of the current
in this sea
of bodies
and cars
and animals loose on the streets.
I rely on skill, alone.

Haji stays in the shadows
ducks around a corner,
was it a weapon or not?
I don’t know.

I see his hash pipe
erupt in vulcanous light
as a lighter blooms bright
against the green and black background.

for a second I might be blind,
but I close an eye and open it again
and I can see.

a block ahead of me
a man
wanders through a shadow
and disappears
in dust.

when we pull up I look for him
but he is gone
like a dream
I can be sure was real
but never was.

the wind
and dust
has me tonight.
feel like I could slip away
disappear myself
be gone before
I was ever missed.

there is gunfire a few hundred meters away
and I am very much still here.

I prepare myself
and nothing ever happens.

later
deep in the distant folds of night
I am taking cover behind a wall;
my eye is directed through a hole
which looks
as if it has been blasted away
by one of our big guns.
I am ‘eyes on’ a squad of grunts
entering an ally
around a house
we know is hostile;
owned by gun runners friendly
to the most powerful militia
in the country.
when they reach the back of the house
the wind kicks hard
and I lose them in the dust.
I bring my rifle up
scan the front of the building
doors
windows
the roof.
I wait
for gunfire
for yells of ‘dhib es-selah hak’
for explosions
for fire
for doors kicked open
as panicked gun runners
make a break for it.
I wait to have to kill someone.
but there is nothing,
everything lost
in the wind
in the dust.

the wind dies.
there is only
the sheer white gleam
of a flashlight
in the sick green black back of the alley.
they have found the gun runners behind their house
AK-47s in their hands.
no shots are fired
when the bad guys realize
they are dead to rights
and drop their weapons.

I will shoot no one tonight.
good thing.
we weren’t supposed to be here anyway.

when I lift my goggles the world is all black and dusty orange.
I think only of Humphrey Bogart.
I think of the cigarette I want.
I think of the rifle in my hand.
the wind dies and I exhale dust.

when we
return to base
I drive
the whole way
with the lights off

because
it feels safe.

Home -- Poetry

Copyright 2005 -- Scott Kirkpatrick -- All Rights Reserved
May not be used in whole or part without written permission of the Author