I wedge myself between the Hondas,Giving up my place to him,Moving slowly and with help.Pant legs slashed to bloody ribbons,Flopping rust-colored at his ankles,Like the assault lines of the chopperHovering above the paddy,Trembling like a gut-shot deer.Lurching along the road in second,Fearful of a broken axle,The firefight fades behind usWhile he rocks there – grim but silent.And when the medics ease him out,In the dimple of the seat,Red dust, red blood mix together,Congealing in the jungle heat.