After The Battlefield

An IED went off close
too close
close enough

to render his speech gone
hand coordination spotty
neck rotation capacity decreased
potential paralysis

24 years old
white, christian, male,
not married
no kids
bed-bound
not goin home today
tomorrow
or any time next week

Rehab: the rest of his life

He can thumb up for "yes"
and thumb down for "no"
and teeter-totter them for "sorta"

No entrance to his room without a gown

A 4'9, male, Taiwanese, non-English speaking nurse sees
the Bible and helps me robe up. Not for a pulpit--
for contact precautions, though this nurse adorns me
with garb as though i'm about to inherit the throne.

From somewhere down the hall, in another room there comes
a groaning and then "Bitch. You bitch."

Over and over.
"Bitch. You bitch."

I can't help it: I look.

Another Asian nurse bends over
this other white, christian, male,
traumatic brain injured patient, swabbing
his wounds, lifting his legs to reach the sore
places, the infected places, the places that
ache him into hate speech.

Later an African American colleague would say "it reminds me
of the way slaves used to take care of their sick masters."

Gowned now. Heading back to the original purpose of my visit.
His head lifts off the bed. He smiles. We exchange symbol systems,
I touch him and end in prayer.

His wide-open, searching, pleading eyes haunt me, the hate speech haunts me.

What gender dies for this country?
Who cleans up the continued and perpetual casualties of war?
Who "pays" the cost of combat?
Once the hating is done over there,
what color does the hate wear here, Mr. President?