down the San Salvador road

10/04/88

my hand is so still 
and I pick up each finger with care 
It died in the road by the body with the rock and 
last night it hit a soldier 
and night before last it held a manhood in a woman 
There are cows puffed across the burned grains in the field 
the pins of their legs cannot puncture the bloating 
of our disease 
and the ducks settle in the bomb pits 
and the trees feed the machine gun fire 
I have slung the body over my shoulder 
stuck my hand in my belt 
and I stare at the diamond chip 
that rock I was tied with 
broken from its mashed setting 
while my wife taps me on my shoulder 
directing me down the road to San Salvador