the Devil in Ambergris

Sweat shines on his face as
he promises himself he won't lose it.
I watch his raised-eyebrow cynicism,
his optimistic mistrust. His hair shorn.
"Well, when you spend a few months in Afghanistan."
Is this what I'm missing out on?
He's been trained enough so he depends on
his body but when the lights go out, his body is gone.
Never lost. What bullshit. It's unavoidable,
and so apparent here, the bellum omnium contra omnes that
everyone sees but never expects.
I watch his optimism start to slip.
He's seen this before, but didn't recognize it
until the mirrors took their first victim.
This place is supposed to be safe.
Bellum omnium contra omnes.
Sweat shines on his face as
he's losing it.