The preteen boy steadies his M40
rifle, clear blue eye centering distant
target—a Vietcong bivouac’s sentry
fifty meters away—in an instant
through his telescopic sight. Calculates
minute of angle to assure he’ll rip
the skull. Wishes he could insure such fate
for Jenny Warner’s boyfriend as he flips
the trigger. Feels blood’s hot rush—his first kill
of the day. He hunts this way after school
each weekday for hours…Hears a sound…grows still.
Someone’s in the hallway. He plays it cool,
eyes fixed on the screen. Hears his mom exclaim
to friends, “He loves his new video game!”
Roger Armbrust
October 7, 2007
