Four-Four-Twenty-Oh-Four
This is the time of year
when spring arrives and trees leaf out
the grass begins to grow and blossoms open
and the yard needs attention and I want to be outside
enjoying the pleasant weather after a hard winter
and I’d rather not spend time at my computer
writing poems and stories about war
and then I remember…
You weren’t in Kansas anymore
on four-four-twenty-oh-four..
Sometimes I feel a chill
running up and down along my spine
remembering those numbers did you harm
and all the flowers look back at me and understand
I have to go inside and try to write some words
from my heart on an otherwise empty page
it is the very least I can do for you
and then I remember…
You were twenty-four years old
on four-four-twenty-oh-four…
I stare at the keyboard
dust and the sound of gunshots rise
before my frightened eyes when you depart
in an overcrowded truck, so tight no one can move
and the driver heads toward Sadr City with you
and a group of other soldiers like sardines
crushed together, arms at your sides
and then I remember…
There were at least twenty-four
on four-four-twenty-oh-four…
My fingers grow weak
as I start to think of what it was like
to head into a pitched battle already raging
in that overheated and embittered Baghdad slum
your arms at your side unable to raise the gun
as snipers took cheap shots from a rooftop
and that bullet hit your collarbone
and then I remember…
That bullet severed your spine
on four-four-twenty-oh-four…
You slid down silently
among standing soldiers to the floor
knowing that you were paralyzed forever
before anyone else knew and the medics swore
to do their very best to save the rest of you
and give you some kind of future
and then I remember…
That you’ve never ever given up
since four-four-twenty-oh-four…
So I begin to write again
because you were and always are
my most important source of inspiration
as well as a real hero and a friend I won’t forget
no matter what happens far off in the future
and even when we met in Chicago
and then I remember…
I should never be silent anymore
about four-four-twenty-oh-four.
_ _ _ _ _
Written for my friend, Tomas Vincent Young
and all the many casualties of the Iraq War.
Four-four-twenty-oh-four
This is the time of year
when spring arrives and trees leaf out
the grass begins to grow and blossoms open
and the yard needs attention and I want to be outside
enjoying the pleasant weather after a hard winter
and I’d rather not spend time at my computer
writing poems and stories about war
and then I remember…
You weren’t in Kansas anymore
on four-four-twenty-oh-four..
Sometimes I feel a chill
running up and down along my spine
remembering those numbers did you harm
and all the flowers look back at me and understand
I have to go inside and try to write some words
from my heart on an otherwise empty page
it is the very least I can do for you
and then I remember…
You were twenty-four years old
on four-four-twenty-oh-four…
I stare at the keyboard
dust and the sound of gunshots rise
before my frightened eyes when you depart
in an overcrowded truck, so tight no one can move
and the driver heads toward Sadr City with you
and a group of other soldiers like sardines
crushed together, arms at your sides
and then I remember…
There were at least twenty-four
on four-four-twenty-oh-four…
My fingers grow weak
as I start to think of what it was like
to head into a pitched battle already raging
in that overheated and embittered Baghdad slum
your arms at your side unable to raise the gun
as snipers took cheap shots from a rooftop
and that bullet hit your collarbone
and then I remember…
That bullet severed your spine
on four-four-twenty-oh-four…
You slid down silently
among standing soldiers to the floor
knowing that you were paralyzed forever
before anyone else knew and the medics swore
to do their very best to save the rest of you
and give you some kind of future
and then I remember…
That you’ve never ever given up
since four-four-twenty-oh-four…
So I begin to write again
because you were and always are
my most important source of inspiration
as well as a real hero and a friend I won’t forget
no matter what happens far off in the future
and even when we met in Chicago
and then I remember…
I should never be silent anymore
about four-four-twenty-oh-four.
_ _ _ _ _
Written for my friend, Tomas Vincent Young
and all the many casualties of the Iraq War.
Four-four-twenty-oh-four
will forever be the bloodiest day of the war
