Marine Sniper In Iraq

MARINE SNIPER IN IRAQ

The soldier whispered softly,
I barely heard him speak.
"We are all that stands between
these monsters and the weak."

The sun beat down like hammers,
not a cloud was in the sky.
The air ran thick with dust,
my throat was parched and dry.

With microphone clutched tight
and a cameraman in tow,
I ducked beneath a fallen roof,
surprised to hear "stay low."

My eyes blinked several times
but in shadows I could see
the figure stretched near rubble
just steps away from me.

He wore a cloak of burlap strips,
all shades of grey and brown
that hung in tatters till he seemed
to melt into the ground.

He never turned his head or
took his eye from off the scope,
but pointed through the broken wall
and down the rocky slope.

"About eight hundred yards,"
he said in whispered words concise,
"beneath the baggy jacket
he's wearing a bomb device."

A chill ran up my spine
despite the sweltering heat,
"You think he's gonna set it off
along that crowded street?"

The sniper gave a weary sigh
and said, "I wouldn't doubt it,
unless there's something this
old gun and I can do about it."

A thunderclap, a tongue of flame
the stillness abruptly shattered
while citizens who walked the street
were just as quickly scattered.

Only one remained. Dead!
He lay crumpled on the ground;
A threat to those nearby
was ended in a single round.

And yet the sniper had
no cheer nor hint of any gloat,
instead he pulled a logbook out
and quietly he wrote.

I said, "I could put you on TV.
That shot would make a story!"
But he surprised me once again,
"I got no wish for glory."

"Are you for real?" I asked in awe,
"You don't want fame or credit?"
He looked at me with saddened eyes
and said, "I don't think you get it."

"You see that shot-up length of wall,
the one without a door?
Before a mortar hit,
it was a grocery store."

"Don't be thinking that bombing
a store is the only thing that's cruel;
See the rubble across the street,
it used to be a school."

"Little kids played soccer
in the field beyond that road;
They never gave a single thought
that a car would just explode."

"As bad as all this is, though,
it could be a whole lot worse,"
Shaking his head, he swallowed
and his words became a curse.

"We fight this war on foreign land
on streets that aren't our own.
I'm here, today, 'cause if I fail,
the next fight's back at home."

"I will not let my Safeway burn,
my neighbors dead inside;
Don't wanna get a call from school
that says my daughter died."

"I pray that not a single child
will know the things I see
nor have this kind of slaughter
etched in memory."

"So put away your trophies
with their words of fleeting fame,
I don't care to make the news
or hear them say my name."

He glanced at the camera,
and his brow began to knot.
"If you're looking for a story,
just give this one a shot."

"Why not tell our folks at home
about the good we've done,
how when they see Americans,
Iraqi kids come at the run."

"Tell 'em what it means to folks
right here to speak their mind
without the fear that tyranny
might be a step behind."

"Describe the miles they walked
to have a chance to vote
or ask a soldier if he's proud;
I'm sure you'll get a quote."

He turned and slid the rifle
into a drag bag thickly padded,
then sadly looked at me again
and with these words, he added.

"Maybe just remind the few
to whom they all may speak,
that we are all that stands between
these monsters and the weak."

By Michael Marks