Lying for the Dead
by Doug Snodgrass
I approached the steps of the concrete porch,
lugging a medical kit and spine-board.
The officers guarding the door stood silent, telling my imagination
to expect the worst. One foot in front of the other,
I climbed the cracked, weathered steps. Over the threshold
and through the door, my eyes caught sight of the victim.
He was lying helpless, motionless on the floor, white carpet
outlining his body. I saw his head.
It looked like a gallon of fresh red paint
had been poured in a circle underneath it.
I smelled a pungent, metallic odor lingering in the air.
I wondered if this was the smell—
the smell of blood…
I got on my knees and began to work,
my hands trembling, checking vital signs, controlling bleeding,
stabilizing the neck. I tried to contain the brain matter
spilling out from under him, but the back of the head
was nearly gone, exploded to pieces.
I forgot that this was a crime scene—
until an officer barked, “Watch the gun! Don’t touch it;
don’t move it.” I looked at it, inches from my foot.
I wondered if I had kicked it. And I wondered how it came to rest
where it was. I wondered the same about this nearly lifeless
young man, my age, lying in front of me, his eyes silently pleading
for me to help.
His friend, crying, asked me, “Will… he be all right?”
Almost instinctively, I answered,
He’ll be OK.
My lie surprised me.
It was my first time.
About the Poet
Doug Snodgrass was born and raised in Wichita, KS. He currently lives in Lawrence, KS and is a student at the University of Kansas. He’s unmarried and 25 years old. Doug wanted to be a paramedic early out of high school, but decided that wasn’t the best road for his life to travel (his poem deals with this and an experience he had while training to be an Emergency Medical Technician). Currently he is pursuing a degree in philosophy with hopes to attend law school thereafter.