THE FIRST SHOT

THE FIRST SHOT

The first shot fired in any war
goes straight into the heart
of somebody's mother.

The first shot hit my leg,
the pain unbearable, a shock
to my belief -
I felt invincible before.

Somebody's son, a medic,
bandaged my wound,
then turned to help
another who had taken
his first shot.

I had trained for
situations such as this;
war was ugly, even before
I felt the first shot
tear into me.

Somebody's son lay dying,
his first shot came
unexpected, his eyes staring
skyward, bloody and cold.

I joined the others
at the front line again,
aiming with deliberate ease
at somebody's son.
Kill or be killed.
War is hell.

Somebody's son comes home
in a flag-draped casket,
somebody's mother
doesn't understand why.

I know that freedom isn't free,
death is the high price
we have to pay for liberty -
and somebody's son tonight
fights for that day of peace,
when it is finished.

Countrymom
5/3/06