We spoke the day

after I dropped a cup

of scalding tea on my arm.

Flesh felt icy-cold, then

bubbled white-hot & red.

You said, it'll hurt like hell for

a week but only slightly

disfigure your skin.

You were right.

But the pain, shit, the pain.

Only Percodan allowed me to sleep.

And I think of "our boys"

releasing canister upon canister

of napalm at temperatures of 1,800 degrees:

jellied petroleum & "a world of hurt."

You never talk much

about your injury.

How 28 years later

the damn thing still

aches in the Montana winters.

Twenty-eight years later