It feels like I might breakdown
It's not supposed to be like this
I've done everything right
According to the book
Following instructions
In sequence
Step by step
Letter by letter
Part by part
Never making any mistakes
But it's not working
Something's wrong
It must be me
It can't be the mechanism
Not the big green machine
Let me try again
Break it down
Like this
Clear the chamber
Release the trigger housing
Careful where each element is laid
Unseat the barrel group
Separate the receiver
Mop the bore
Brush the recoil spring
Wipe the bolt
And don't forget to scrub the extractor
Those flares don't help
Keep your eyes squeeeeeezed tight
Feel the way
Slot it into place
With your greasy hand
Dirty fingernail running the port
Trying not to crack that blood-crusted knuckle
Latch the assembly
And reload
Pocket the blackened toothbrush
Stow the cleaning kit
Ready to go again
As if spit 'n' polish mattered anymore
As if standing inspection would ever happen again
As if the Skipper would ever rise up again
Would stand tall before everyone Locking heels with a crack
Snap into inspection arms
Slap of exchanging guard mount
Just like the smack of a bullet
Knowing that shooting will just get you shot again
Firing back along the tracer axis
But it's not supposed to be this way
We're supposed to be better than them
And our stuff is better
And our way is better
And only heroes die young
Not someone too scared to run
Not someone too frightened to quit
Not someone so afraid
Of malfunctioning
Of being shot to pieces
Of falling apart
Break it down
Do it over 'til it's right
But if it's right
Then doing it over again won't matter
So much for theory
So much for the plan
They break you down
To build you up
So you can pass all the exams
And fail the real test
The one with no right answers
Where being a good example
And a bad example
Generate the same result
Produce the same effect
Amount to the same tally
And Sarge said something about
Somebody needing to prove
The lessons wrong
Or right
For the next class
Of poor fools
Of sad sacks
Of fresh meat
That reforms
Who re-assemble
Clear the airway
Stop the bleeding
Load the magazine
Cycle the bolt
Aim low
Squeeeeeeze the trigger
Breathe
Don't breakdown
Reform
What to do with the leftover parts
Of my disassociated skills
Of my uncompiled images
Of my disconnected experiences
Surely I can martial my bloody thoughts
And muster my shattered spirit
So I won't ever breakdown
Again
Clear the chamber
Clear the airway
Break it on down
Again
by Viktor von Bruderkin
... who is a former Marine, a war veteran, and an amateur poet
whose work has appeared previously in this magazine.
