seven thirty one

The heel of the boot stood and struck me prominently in the jaw
Pulps of red began to emerge from my lips
My hand raised to my mouth to examine the damage
Laughter of the young recruits filled the air
The bloody pulp that had emerged from my mouth was most of my bottom lip
As crimson poured from the gaping hole that was now my mouth
Mixed in with the wet soot and soil in the rain

I looked up to see the booted man
The young gray sentinels stood like steel pillars against the overcast
The burned remains of homes and holding cells littered the world

The booted man extracted a kerchief from his pocket and neatly wiped away the vile on his polished shoe
He called over a cadet who handed him a pair of pliers
My tooth is the price for not biting the bullet
"Forgive me, comrade. This is now mine"

The boot erupted on the side of my ribcage
Shattering my breathing
The snap of his leather fingers signaled for the towers of youth to evacuate

I picked up the mess that was my lip
Looked down at the mess that was my uniform
Looked up at the mess of world