“Cutter”

Jan. 11, 2017

They called me "Cutter"
They dialed up
My number;
I'd cut open doors
Hermetically sealed
With Iraqi families
Hunkered, barricaded inside,
Their jihadis out
Cutting down jarheads
In the field,
Sometimes we'd wait
For them to come back
At night,
For a bigger score,
But then I didn't get
To cut open doors,
We'd just surprise.
So I'd cut daisies
Inside the humvees
Because COs
Had wasted my life
With a bunch of GIs,
So I brought tears
To soldiers' eyes
With mine,
Who hadn't a breath
In 50-degree heat
All day.
I laughed,
They punched,
We were men about it
Till one day, an IED
Split open my gut,
For all my intestines
To wreak
And be seen,
But those same men
Saved my a*s
To stink another day.

~ MR

Reviews

[R.E. Ray]

Maxwell, this "cuts" the reader deeply! Wow! The images, the perspective, the honesty and humility. It's all so rich in this poem. We need more of this on Writers Cafe. So good to see your work on here. Another impressive piece.

[Maxwell Ryder]

Robert, thank you kindly. I will try to do more. I like to try different things from time to time, both themes and styles.