Ftrain, by Paul Ford

voice where I had gone
                to feel more

alone, thinking
          I was, and then our
                sergeant’s words,
                        the
straining

wind off ropes outside
the tent. “You okay now?”

Yeah they said little
flu. Pills they give me.
“Others. Gone.” I know.
“No. Hit mine. Got word. Radio.”

“Others. Gone.” I know.
“No. Hit mine. Got word. Radio.”

Shoving us boys up onto the throbbing truck,
renewing all the giggling by hauling me
                back off then for the medics--"His
war be-
                        gins
tomorrow!” But on they jeered                                 and
hooted and are still

                                        lurching
away from the sun,
                                        faces
like singing
grapefruit.