Sergio Ortiz
I saw the arm
and a gun, abandoned waves
pushing me against the rail
on the stairs.

Then he yanked my hair,
unbuckled my jeans,
put the Magnum on my face.
I thought I saw myself tighten
as he pulled the trigger,
but he said: Close your eyes,
be still, and don't say a word!

The fool, I was already
talking to the moon
suspended over sand, water,
and fish kettles.

On Leave-1968

We waited for the sun
to walk away the shadows.
I sat on his lap, wrinkled
the khaki fresh out of Vietnam.
The kisses had me thinking
it could be more than a night
in the bleachers. But then again,
I don't go to funerals,
or let boys tie me to motel beds
as if they were drill sergeants
training troops to forget the gore.