In a place called Haditha, November 19, 2005
I am trying to write a poem about a war crime:
Haditha,
November 19, Iraq, 2005,
And proctor an
ACT test—high stakes,
Test 4, 35
minutes (ll:09:30 to 11:44:30).
I have read the
rules of engagement, including
14 Prohibited
Behaviors. Diagramed seating.
Accounted for
23 test booklets. Double checked
For positive
identification. Et cetera.
There are
posters on the walls of the classroom.
Foggy scene,
Suit of Armour, Pulp Fiction.
Kleenex is
available. There will be no talking.
Do not begin
until instructed to do so.
There is 1
minute remaining in this poem.
There were 24
bodies in the morgue. One more
Than in this
classroom. Safa Younis, 12, survivor,
Called to her
mother until realizing she was dead.
3rd
Battalion, First Marines, Kilo Company
Patrolling
early morning, chilly, armored vehicles
In convoy. IED—stands for improvised explosive device.
Rain of
debris. Guard established. Wounded clustered.
Secure zone
complete. Dust and moaning. Smell of rubber.
One Marine
dead: Corporal Miguel Terrazas.
Ranking Officer
shouts orders. Immediate search begins.
Closest
structure: Now known as Hassan family home.
7 Hassans shot
dead. Then Safa’s family: 8 dead.
The Ayeds were
next. Four brothers marched into room.
Shot. Finally, 4 college students ordered out of
taxi
With cab
driver. All 5 shot. Twenty-four.
Listen to the
tall, immaculately uniformed Marine
Downstairs in
the lunchroom, running the push-up contest,
Telling how
brave knights engage the enemy, heroically,
To win the
hearts and minds of the people.
Showing the
boys the medals, the video game of noble combat,
Recruiting the
“most disciplined military force in history.”
Kleenex is
available. There will be no talking.
Do not begin
until instructed to do so.
No comments:
Post a Comment