Mosqueda doesn't believe it for one minute,
but it's true;
And although he swears he'll never forget it,
he will
As we all do, as we all should
and do.

The scraps of flesh on Mosqueda's sleeve
Belonged to Hatalski or Frazier,
one of the two;
And when they splashed there, Mosqueda screamed and fainted
And soiled his fatigues. And yet,
Unhurt and all,
He was carried off as if a casualty, and maybe he was ...
But he'll forget it, in time;
In time we all do, and should.

On the other hand,
If Mosqueda had lost an arm or a leg or an eye, a nose or an ear,
He'd not forget it nor would others let him, but
One man's meat is not another's souvenir,
And so, Mosqueda will forget;
If not, he'll become a bore, and a bother, or a public nuisance.
But Mosqueda will forget;
His skin wasn't even pinked, let alone charred or burned
Or blasted into someone else's clothing
When the rocket burst. And,
When the rocket burst, Mosqueda was between the gun
And Joey Vielma, a casual visitor who came calling,
But this proves little except, perhaps, a law of probabilities.
The burst took off Hatalski's face
And Frazier's life as well; Joey Vielma caught it in the chest and face,
But Mosqueda was unhurt ...

He screamed anyway,
And the other gun crews froze for an instant.
Some came running in time
To retch and gag and vomit over the dead
As the fainting Mosqueda screamed and cried and sobbed
And yet.

He was unhurt
When the rocket burst.

As for me, my hand was nicked a bit, my eyes and face peppered,
When the sun glasses broke in half;
Later, in a stagger, I came upon the binocs
Some fifteen yards away.
But, as I've said, Mosqueda was unhurt, and,
Given time,
he'll forget.