In A Nanosecond

I asked a question about helicopters
To a man who knew them.
He said he had a buddy
In “The Nam” who was
A door gunner…

Though he had been smiling
His eyes instantly clouded.
He choked a bit.
Tears gathered at the corners
Of his eyes.
Sucking on his lower lip
A timid squeak escaped.
His hands trembled.
He shook his head slowly
Not looking at me.

I felt like shit for asking.
I could not have foreseen this.

I told him it’s alright
That I understood.

But I do not understand.

I know nothing of the life expectancy
Of helicopter door gunners
And even less about losing a friend.

We sat in a cacophony of noise.
In the commerce around us
I was hearing shoppers
And recorded sales announcements.

He was hearing
The roaring pulse of helicopter blades
The chatter of machine guns
The characteristic slow report of AK 47’s
He was smelling smoke
Cordite
Blood.

I was smelling mall coffee
And hearing squawking children
Restrained by mothers.

Death
Apparently
Never departs far from us
And may easily be summoned
Over coffee
In a shopping mall.

Death may return in all
Its coppery soil
Its jagged shrapnel
Its rent flesh
Its vacant gaze
In a nanosecond
Laden with all the brutality
In which it was last encumbered
Half a century ago.

My friend wept silently
While I stirred cream
Into my coffee.