InArms A project for the Edmonton Poetry Festival

Poem of the Week

The Man I Never Shot

August 16, 2010

Your table has an extra spot
And boys I desperately need an ear
To help this heavy weight to clear
That’s crushed my soul for many years.
I know it’s strange – you know me not
So I’ll be sure to finish quick
Before you drink your current beers.
I was just sitting over there
And heard the stories you all shared
And wow – the brave things you have done!
Beneath that suffering Asian sun.
Me, the only tale I got
Is that which I must tell to you
About the man I never shot
And what that’s since then put me through.
We had a task that you’ve all had
To stand guard around a broken LAV
And keep the curious crowd away.
In that buzzing hive of filthy skin
The circular wall of deadly flesh
Where hands reached out to pull us in
I caught the strangeness of a grin
So white against his bearded chin.
He caught me too – our eyes were locked
And for a fleeting second I
Was sure I heard a gun had cocked
And one of us would have to die.
Just when I chose it would be him
He tucked away his crazy grin
And melted into the jabbering swath
Of filthiness and ragged cloth.
I wonder if his heart was true
And if his smile was genuine?
Or did I with one look delay
His evil deeds for one more day?
And if he later carried out
The awful deeds we know about?
But I prefer another end
One that helps me sleep sometimes.
Where he was just an honest man
Who stopped and looked, and simply grinned
At what he could not understand.
I think the man I never shot
Deserved exactly what he got
From me – another day of life.
But there’s my hell, I’ll never know.

By Quentin Mullin

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