1.
Slap, slap, slap.
My Uzi bounces against my soft, green body,
barrel still warm,
very warm.

2.
I wonder if I should cool it
when we reach Nahal David,
give it a mikvah,
a cleansing bath
but it wouldn't make much difference.

3.
My eyes search the canyon walls,
looking for snakes
never knowing where they are,
until they strike.

I'm always looking.
My feet gently slap the the dusty ground.
Slap, slap, slap.

4.
I remember her eyes
in the worn photograph he carried.
She looked like my cousin Joy,
a new orphan of an old land.

5.
I remember seeing him fall
as my uzi slapped back after each shot.
He bounced against the still dew-covered earth.
I didn't see his eyes.

6.
My uzi is applauding my soft green cotton body.
The world is always slapping.
Slap, slap, slap.