Eliza Turrill Poetry

Recollection

 

He had been to Iraq.

He squeezed the trigger

on people whose names

he didn’t even know:

fathers, uncles, brothers.

 

But, it wasn’t the carnage

he remembered, not the blood

or the bombs, the hundred degree heat.

 

His memory

was of a man driving a car chassis.

There were wheels and an engine,

but no body.

 

Can that even be legal?

He asks.

He had an afro out to here!

He gestures with his hands.

And you know what he was listening to?

Short pause.

70s disco music.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s