They gathered
in skinny packs,
in laughing circles
around him.
He stitched their cuts,
bound their wounds,
gave them,
like some OD Santa,
chocolate bars,
antibiotics,
aspirins and
C-Rations.
They laughed louder,
begging for more,
shrieking and calling him
Doc-san #1.
This phony comedy
made him feel better,
feel human,
even though he knew
at night their parents
would do their best
to take his life.
Decades on,
he knows behind those grins
they must have hated him:
his height, his food,
his round eyes
and the doom
he had brought their world
that no trinkets
could ever allay.
Now, there is nothing to do
but remember and be sorry.
mce
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
They gathered
in skinny packs,
in laughing circles
around him.
He stitched their cuts,
bound their wounds,
gave them,
like some OD Santa,
chocolate bars,
antibiotics,
aspirins and
C-Rations.
They laughed louder,
begging for more,
shrieking and calling him
Doc-san #1.
This phony comedy
made him feel better,
feel human,
even though he knew
at night their parents
would do their best
to take his life.
Decades on,
he knows behind those grins
they must have hated him:
his height, his food,
his round eyes
and the doom
he had brought their world
that no trinkets
could ever allay.
Now, there is nothing to do
but remember and be sorry.
mce
