I saw his deer in headlights gaze,
a flickering twitch of his eye - a sign of his nerves,
though well hidden and slight.
I saw the rings of red, fixed like bruises on his face
and knew the trail of dried up tears
lingered on his cheek.
I saw his mouth set firmly straight,
no wayward upward grin or grimace - no verbalising his
internal feelings, no cry for help.
I saw his chin tremble,
indistinct and slight. Knew inside his jaw was set,
pride would not watch him crumble.
I saw his shoulders rounded, hunched,
in recognition of the weight that sat upon them.
Unable to bear the strain.
I saw his baggy clothes,
hiding the thin frame beneath - colourless, shapeless,
faded, blending in.
And I saw the way he jolted/flinched,
when the man behind him touched his arm.
Saw the searing pain of shock across his face.
Saw the sweaty palm that left an imprint on his shirt.
Just for a moment he noticed me watching,
glimpsed my recognition.
For an instant I witnessed the pleading in his face,
felt the desperation in his posture.
And what did I do?
I dropped my eyes,
turned,
walked away.
Author notes
I'd like to say this isn't a true story, but I'm sure something like this has happened to many people. For the purposes of this poem, though, this was entirely off the cuff and in no way a personal experience.
Written October 9th, 2004
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I suppose in a way it is/was a little bit about what's going on in Iraq right now. There's a certain sense of "What can I do about it?" and it was that feeling that was niggling away at me when I thought about writing this.
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I thought it was going to be one of the Iraq hostages at the point of execution… perhaps just too strong – but still felt it was a very pertinent comment… I don’t think I have ever been ‘there’ in the flesh but I think most can empathize with the feeling.
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