It was the incongruity
drawing my eyes, to focus,
the foreign color, out of
place
no longer in the desert,
Iraq or Afghanistan, in
country
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, out of
place,
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
for another tour of duty;
would it even matter anymore?
edited June 25, 2014
A Cigarette Butt – v2
March 7, 2008
A Cigarette Butt
Canal Street,
Manchester, NH
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