Haunting

Every night's
the same prayer.
Not on his knees
but in his job,

with shaking hands
he lifts the man
onto the stretcher,

the anti-aircraft gun
rips the air in two
even the bullets enter
the hospital doors,

faces covered
bodies fallen to the floor,
eyes shut tight
attempting to dream,

imagining another hospital,
on the other side of town,
where his body isn't found,
it doesn't lie in the morgue,
senseless and evidence

of a war crime,
he sees him
his flickering shadow
amongst the crowded streets,
his trembling hands
never unearthing the receipt.