by

Robert H. Dirr Jr.

Guiding soapy intestines through a breach in the belly of a friend,
I hear an appeal to make it stop hurting and I hold on to his hand
As he cries for his mom and then asks me to shoot him in the head
But instead I try to fix the hole in Julio's belly.

He kicks and fidgets and screams that it feels like he's on fire
And he labors to get just one more sigh of life inside him.
While I tie the straps of a 12 inch battle dressing into a square knot,
He asks me again if I would please shoot him in the head.

His eyes roll up and all I can see are the whites, and I think he's dead.
But the pupils come down and slowly focus on me and he asks
"Who is the little son of a bitch that just killed me?" and then
He starts coughing and dribbles out untamed foamy blood.

A chaplain approaches to give Julio his last rites and I turn away
To give him intimacy for the ultimate Hail Mary, but he grabs
My head with his good arm and pulls me down to his lips so I can
Hear him say "It's okay now, Doc. The pain is on you."

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