Soft Things

Escaping the confines of the office, Todd takes a smoke break

out back where some Afghan workers are digging a ditch.

They squat behind their shovels and shade their eyes,

sucking on their scarves to keep moisture in their mouths.

Yesterday we lost two more guys to an IED –

not the fault of Afghans in general, but these ones

keep their distance, knowing we’re angry enough

to blame them anyway.

Plus it’s hot. And we’re all getting on each other’s nerves.

When Todd returns he lets the screen door bang behind him.

It’s the third time that day and Sean sighs, rolling his eyes.

Todd announces that he’s seen a kitten outside – an event –

because things here don’t thrive.

My roommate runs, clapping her hands for something soft.

She can’t wait to hold it. Her mouth is an Ohhhhh.

All week she has been alone in her head, tossing at night,

nervous and afraid to dream. Afraid the next IED

will be hers.

She hurries outside and the screen door slams.

Don’t forget your purse, Todd jokes.

I watch his shoulders go up and down.

There is a pause in the sound of shovels

ringing against the rocks in the dirt

as the Afghans stop to watch.

Todd says, laughing –

Guess I should have told her it was dead.

Through the screen door I see

her hands fall, her face

go the colour of Vanilla Bean body cream.