The Infirmary

Boy in a Rice Paddy, Head Shot

60 B o y i n a r i c e P a D D y, h e a D s h o t tornado tip, small surprise of an o led in an inch above the target eye, eggshell skullback blown away, his yolk running. a medivac hinges in on metal babble, its blades thrash the too late air like a frantic mother. The red cross is hysterical, a scream painted on, it is the prayer of an idiot. a boy weighs most when he’s fresh dead. We hoist him in, the door gunner asking, “only one?” Paddy mud will heal, and the smile on the sniper’s lip. small herd driven, we’re nudged along the paddy rice by some dull prodding, our balls small pistons. ...