Passing Faces
Passing houses,
dusty,
dilapidated,
situated
on the traffic
intersection,
with a crater
from the last
IED;
a disposable
camera
left hand,
lever for turning
turret
right hand,
where
did I get
the camera from,
the barrel
and
camera
pointed together,
in the same
direction,
I have regret
for not taking
more pictures,
more people,
more expressions,
more exasperation,
more events,
passing faces,
as they unfolded
before me,
rather
than
the static
and
familiar scenes
of
passing houses,
their blurred nature,
from the perspective
of
a moving vehicle,
could have been
anywhere,
Boston,
a suburb;
I missed
all the people
in those few
pictures,
the ones
who inhabited
the houses;
getting
closer
to the center
of the city,
the camera
drops
down
to the floor
of the Humvee,
two hands
on the
50 cal machine
gun,
ready
in this foreign
land,
this foreign
scenery,
confused
by strange
but
familiar faces,
already
imagining
what
kind of attack
I
would readily
respond to,
with my
50 caliber machine
gun,
where
would
I
launch
an
RPG
from,
while
trying
not
to
be
killed;
think
like the enemy,
know
what he would do,
do not ask
why;
no fear
behind this
gun,
no reasons
to wonder why;
how many faces
I
must have captured
with the
barrel
of that
50 cal machine
gun,
passing faces,
they
would have shown
as frustrated,
yet
yearning for normalcy
as anyone
could hope,
lives lived
in the presence
of tanks,
gun trucks,
helicopters,
artillery shells;
would have
captured
hungry faces,
surprised faces,
faces of discontent,
tired faces
young faces of
hope
I see
these same faces
everywhere I go.
(2013)
