Duty to Whom?
His eyes drift to the bed where oiled,
primed,
sharpened,
the tools of his trade lay ready.
Preoccupied, the little voice goes unnoticed.
A tug on his pant leg and the question
Daddy, what is that helmet?
It protects my head in case I fall down.
A glance to the ballistic mask
And that Daddy?
Is there Halloween where you are going?
A chuckle
No, that mask protects my face.
From what Daddy?
From monsters.
Why is a skull painted on it?
To scare the bad guys.
A look to the tactical knife in its sheath
Why do you need that, Daddy?
It’s just a tool for cutting things.
Do you ever cut bad guys with it, Daddy?
[a look to the ceiling]
Only if they need cutting, buddy.
Next to the rifle, he looks so small and innocent.
That is like mine, Daddy! Can I hold it?
Maybe when you’re older, bud.
Do you shoot monsters and bad guys with it, Daddy?
Only if they shoot first, bud.
Why would they shoot at my daddy?
[a sigh]
Because they want to hurt us.
But why, Daddy?
Don’t they have daddies to protect them?
They used to pal, but not anymore.
When will you be back, Daddy?
[a horn honks]
I gotta go, pal. I’ll call you when I get there.
An empty table, spattered with tears
Silent sobs wrack her
A little boy
pajamas too big
a worn teddy bear in his hand
Mommy, did Daddy call yet?
-American writer
