None of us spoke their language and
none of them spoke ours.
We went in breaking down doors.
They told us to force the whole scrum
—men women kids—into one room.
We went in punching kicking yelling out orders
in our language, not theirs.
The front of one little boy bloomed
wet as we went in breaking down doors.
Now it turns out that 80 percent
of the ones in that sweep were innocent
as we punched kicked yelled out orders.
The way that we spun in that sweltering stink
with handcuffs and blindfolds was rank.
We went in breaking down doors.
Was that the Pyrrhic moment when
we herded the sobbing women with guns
as punching kicking yelling out orders
we went in breaking down doors?
from Still to Mow, W.W. Norton, 2007
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