for Ai and the alleged "D.C. sniper", John Allen Muhammed

"I lie on my daughter's body to hold her in the earth,

but she won't stay; she rises, lifting me with her...." –  Ai, "The Detective"

1.

Me and the old man used to

line empty Corona's against warped

aluminum buckets, grabbing whatever bottles

lay propped up or jutting out from

amongst the weeds,

and he'd get on his tip-toes to

grab that dingy straw hat

that hung on the shed's rusted roof.

I laughed when he cocked that hat

over his brow and squinted like

Eastwood, while chewing on a blade

of grass as he wiped the rifle down.

"You ain't neva gon' shoot as good as ya daddy, ya hear?"

I stayed silent

and watched his shoulder jerk

in sync with shattered glass

"You wan' try and shoot that last one there?"

I finally feel the cold skin of metal

that shouts and whistles

the crows away.

2.

Somewhere in Baghdad,

I stood in the desert like Moses

with nothing but my backpack on,

and death wrapped her soft hands

around my neck

seductively, baby.  It felt kinda like

your hands Mildred –

that thing you do when you lock

your arms around my neck

and pull me down to kiss me.

That thing you used to do.

Now, the sun looks like a ball of fire

that Allah has hurled at you and me

and there ain't enough stars to cool

this flame.

They trained me to kill foreign men

as brown as me, from 800 meters, and I did

and I cried 'cause he screamed like I would.

But they don't know I'm scared of death

and losing you, and the kids.

I imagine drowning in this sand

and coming back different for you

so we don't fight – I don't want to fight

no more after this;

they didn't train me to leave you.

3.

No one understands my story

because I never got a chance

to write it.  Its funny how everyone

finds you when you run, but

no one notices you if you walk like them.

In my nightmare,

blood seeps thru my shirt and stains

my skin.  I can't wipe it off as I lay

over my son's lifeless body.  I try to

shake him awake, but he stays still

with his eyes open, staring at me.

I keep thinking Mildred will never

forgive me.

I wake up in my backseat, and remember

how dead everyone is.

No one understands my story until

they hear the glass shatter and

find the crow's feathers

blood soaked, which

lay on that body so limp and damp.

Yeah, everybody's gonna die in this one.

I finally get a chance to write

about me, and if you stand as far away

as I do, no one will ever know you were