Open wounds
Slapped with the palm
Of a clumsy hand and
Beaded with the sweat
Of salty glands.
I know the wrap
Of a bacta gauze
That they need-
Civilians and Padawans,
Knights and Masters,
Clone soldiers
All running
With smoke closing
In on their backs
Or already choking.
If they can run away
Our tranquilizers
Pay them back
With sleep
And the blood runs
Past their elbows;
Dripping drying rain
That stains the street.