Still Fighting

In the land of sand
he slept with a gun
under his pillow
in a bunker of
cinder blocks and plywood

Safe at home
nothing feels right

Steering the car
across the center line
at high speeds
fearful of roadside trash
It could be a bomb

Unable to manage crowds
he can’t see everyone’s hands

Twenty-one years
of following orders
and sacrifice
they are unconcerned

Feeling alone
In an incomprehensible world
void of order and discipline

Still fighting
now for medical care