Day 453

from a photograph

The doctor walks slowly
through the rubble of his hospital,
tanks surrounding him.  He is alone,
the only one walking.
He is still in his white coat.
He knows with each step
he approaches what may be his death.
He thinks of his son, who was killed
just weeks ago.  Another son,
still alive.  Is he thinking about
the years he has lived? The hospital
broken, shattered.  Agonized patients.
His parents, his training, his wife?  Those
he has worked with through all these months?
Despite the wound in his leg
he moves without stopping, deliberately.
With each step he knows he is moving closer
to their snipers, their taunts,
their instruments of torture.
He moves slowly, steadily.
They cannot take this from him:
his dignity, his steadfastness,
whatever they are planning to do to him.