I hear the
thumpetathumpetathumpeta
of chopper blades struggling
with an angry sky

And am somehow drawn
to a faceless stranger
once leanmeanandnineteen
lying in a field a world
away from where
he used to play
with ball and glove
on summer days

A rivulet of red
has pooled around him
and he is strangely numb
after cold and fear have
squeezed his ragged body
of whatever will remained
after his final battle

But he is not alone
for we are there
to hear his name
and see his face
and watch with him
the settling dust
reveal the evening sky