The Medic.

Author:Wilson, Eliot Khalil
Position:Poem
 
FREE EXCERPT

The blast wind burns your face but you can see the pavement seem to rise, a fistic bloom, and then the sound that stops all sound--debris falls in an angry rain through dust, and soon you can gather the clues of what you are. Then procedure becomes your prayer and shield: both legs gone, so tourniquets, then morphine for basilic vein, stretcher to nearest field, Then the wait, the wait for the chopper out. Now you're grateful for this ringing deafness; You're too weak to suffer the cries...

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