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Sgt. Israel Garcia: The Ritual (poem)

By Horace Coleman

He and the battle went down two weeks
before his third tour would have ended.
At twenty-four he's done with
the chore of living.

On the local paper's page three
you could see a thumb nail portrait of him -
a three column picture of the widow, mother and father.

"I have three children
and they're all safe because of Sgt. Garcia"
the US Representative supposed.

"It's an important day for us -
and a sad day" said mom Maricruz.
Dad Victor still looked stunned.
Sunglasses guarded Lesly's eyes
from inquisitive stares and the glare of
posthumous Silver and Bronze Stars
- and other chest salad.

And Israel?
He existed, enlisted and desisted
but lingers in them for lasting,
and private,
ceremonies.

Horace Coleman

Shortly after writing this poem,
I found this on pages 51-52 of the September 2009 of the Reader's Digest in the Outrageous column written by Michael Crowley:

"In July 2008, Taliban fighters attacked a US outpost in the Afghan village of Wanat, killing nine American troops and wounding 27. Military investigators later discovered a local police chief had helped carry out the attack. At his police post, they found a cache of more than 70 US assault rifles that were probably US-supplied. The investigators picked up three more guns near the battle site itself."

Sgt. Garcia died in this battle.