Public Republic

Colleen Harris

Photo: The U.S. Army

So still, you couldn’t have been
anything other than hunkered
down, waiting to weather
the next barrage. I was sure
of it. You were tucked tight,
and dead men sprawl the way
men do after mind-numbing sex.
I snugged up next to you,
hip to hip, nudged your arm
and whispered, Don’t be an ass, Tom,
move over. Quiet, so quiet I knew
they would never find us, that
I would owe you a beer or seven
for playing statue so well. Hours,
not a whisper, and I got angry,
poked at your side, needing
to know you were scared too,
but you weren’t. You were silent.
I couldn’t even hear you breathe
and I hated you. I hated you until
my pant leg was soaked through.
I figured you finally turned
human and terrified like me,
and I loved you again. I laughed
at you for pissing yourself,
but looked down to see it was blood.