Metal Poem by Charles Malcolm

I can barely breathe
in your company
and don't want to
when I'm not.

Barbed shrapnel
lodged
in the deepest part
of my heart
and mind.

I could yank you free
and die
or leave you in
and wish that I were dead.

A soldier doesn't speak to the grenade
when he dives
as the fish doesn't question the hook
when he bites.

Only the writer
speaks to his assailant
through his wounds,
but it doesn't matter.

The metal won't hear your words
over your exploding chest
and the repetitive, wet slap
of life
leaving your body.

It takes courage to dive or bite.

It is a good death.