A Cigarette Butt

It was the incongruity
the foreign color, out of place
sand camouflage on the Humvee
merging with me, on the city street
rimmed with dirty white
snow piles, days after the storm
He was in the Hummer
in my rearview
Guard fatigues, short, just-cut hair
A butt cupped, awkwardly
in his hand, as if
hiding the glowing tip
from sniper fire
outside the Green Zone
in downtown Baghdad.
I wonder if he knows
what it looks like
to an observer, in the rearview.
Had he lived that life
when a dim cigarette ember
could have cost him his life?
Would he have to go back?

March 7, 2008
Canal Street, Manchester, NH

All of my poems are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014. All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss for usage. See all 30,710+ of my poems at www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com Poetry Where You Live.