Knuckles red, knuckles bleeding…
His knuckles red, his knuckles bleeding. My father fought and fought, wars that could not be won. He told me in his drunkenness state. What have I done?
He told me. Son. I killed and I killed. I melted down three machine guns barrels. I saw body on body of the dead. Thousand we killed and I didn’t want to see the face of the enemy.
I remember my friend left behind. They are still buried somewhere in the Korean dirt. He told me. Son, war is shit, war is hell.
I pray the old soldier can find peace in death. In life, my father fought old wars every day and every night. My father never found peace. The damn wars tattoos and spoiled his soul. Killed his hope and killed his vision. And the wars are never-ending for men with. Knuckle red, knuckles bleeding.
Coyote