His open eyes, one catching the sun,
shining towards me – presumably
they still function optically:
recording, unmoved, unmoving, my presence;
this dead soldier, sodden in the ditch,
half his body peaceful, as if
welcoming his death; the other half
unmentionable; animals must eat;
his eyes recording my presence, yet
the brain now with no need
to question whether I’m the enemy; or friend;
the medic; the man who’s just shot him several times
at close range, standing over; or
the man he shot just now;
come to greet him as his newest friend.
Michael Shepherd
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-his-eyes-his-eyes/
