If I knew you better,

I would remember more

than curly black hair, which

is, anyway,

all gone now,

like a cancer patient’s,

and if

I were not

the jaded product

of a surrendered world

if I were soft and fuzzy,

like my old stuffed dog,

I would know how

to feel and act in

wartime

situations,

or if

I had been raised

with steadfast faith

in God and Country

I would grasp

how sweet

and fitting

your teenage

corpse

or crippled

lost-youth

shadow

would be.

And if anyone

was not so quick

to fulfill the

stupid prophecies

with all the

death

they could reach,

or to feed their

roaring

monsters, or

if planes had

never

fallen

from

cloudless

sky, then--

what?

Would I know more

than that you loved

paint ball

before you ever

shot

real

guns?

Bullets burst

crimson and

spattered

back on you.

I see your

red flecked

smile

when I wonder

if we will

survive.