Lung Shot Poem by Paul Hartal

Evening descended with a glow.
A gust of wind swept across the street.
And then there was a knock on the door.

I never saw him before
But my parents knew the man.

Mother served tea.

The visitor talked about the war
and how he was shot in the lung.
The bullet, he said, went straight through
his chest and it came out between his ribs.

I was about five years old then
and listened to the story intensely.

I thought that there was still an open hole
In his body and when he removed his shirt
the wind would blow through it
with a whistling shriek.