Vitals

He’d die,
Accompanied
By his rifle,
Steeped in sweat.
Not disinfectant.

The oximeter, low.
No breath is free.
Each is enlisted.
They wake him
To take vitals.

A prisoner of war,
His blood let,
Not to a lab,
To madder root.
It was lunacy.

Men cut
Easier’n cane
They raised.
Lashed- eyes,
And back.

In between,
He waited
For a bullet
To the head.
Not a tumor.

A prison,
The Senate.
Hospitals.
Battle-brought
Nearly home.