Scott T. Summers The 2River View, 9.2 (Winter 2005)

Flies circle his head
like a black halo,
lay their eggs
near the bullet lodged
in the meat of his brain.

Scattered among the trampled blades,
like broken pottery—
fragments of skull.

Before the colonel
gave the order to advance,
he pinned a note to his uniform.

My name is Jonathan Victor
and I love my mother.

He imagined her proudly smiling
as the morning sun darted
off the golden buttons
that adorned his blue coat.

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