Start of the Rainy Season

I remember a bombing in which a civilian

riding in a military convoy had been killed,

his truck tumbling over concrete barriers

and into shop fronts made from sea cans.

The rain had made everything slick

and afterwards, no one knew whose legs were whose –

somehow the medics had ended up with extras.

I heard all of this later

from the soldiers who were there.

One of them spat in the dirt.

Shook his head. Shrugged.

He told me how they always had to fight

to get this guy to wear his flak vest and helmet.

Fuckin’ civilians, he had said

as though he couldn’t afford to care.

After that,

the rain just kept coming.