Laced up boots and buckled belt
unready for the day.
Yesterday said ‘this time tomorrow’
but there was nothing real to say.
Events unfold and darkness calls,
and lights flash
and the journey
and what’s at the end
and how it got there
and who called
and there’s always an attack

because Kevlar protects not the mind,
nor do weapons defend
from the image of the dying man,
the despair of the friend
who watched him bleed
and watched him die
Ticking. Pumping. Beeping.
The cries replay
for a while
every single day.

But don’t take a beat to go and eat
or to try and comprehend
the tragedies just witnessed,
for with uniform comes judgement
and comments of how they pay
and how could you think it would be okay
to have food and water?
The same different
every day.

But the choice is made
every day
to stay and stand,
for reasons unbeknown,
up to others,
up for others,
with others
to provide support
to others.

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