Army Burn Ward

Army Burn Ward

This poem was written
about the pain of Vietnam;
it could be about tomorrow.
Please. Peace.

First the doctor peels dead skin away.
"Debriding," like a teacher, names it.
(Like a virgin, like a pockmarked whore.)
Then the whirlpool, pain-pull
spiralling down like fire,
like broken birds inside him.
(Like a winter wedded to the bone.)
Then the grafting, four long strips of skin.
"Rebriding," in his shock he giggles,
(Gagging like a schoolboy, like a groom.)
gagging as his new skin wrinkles, worms,
rejecting him. Again the whirlpool
(Like an April pain in soft swarms twirled.)
wheels and stops. The sink-plug pulled,
he stares
(Like an empty coat, a burned-out star.)
unblinking as the brides inside him die.

-- Martin Galvin

Posted over on Poets Against the War