We're moving into year seven of our war with Iraq. I haven't cared for most of the Iraq war movies that have come out even when I agreed with the film's politics. The Hurt Locker is different. It's a suspenseful and well-told story that gets down to the human level and engages you with the characters. I loved it. I came across a poem last night by Brian Turner that shares the same title as the film. Ironically, I was scanning the titles of various poetry collections, studying how others title their work, because I have such a hard time coming up with good titles.
The Hurt Locker
Nothing but hurt left here.
Nothing but bullets and pain
and the bled-out slumping
and all the fucks and goddamns
and Jesus Christs of the wounded.
Nothing left here but the hurt.
Believe it when you see it.
Believe it when a twelve-year-old
rolls a grenade into the room.
Or when a sniper punches a hole
deep into someone's skull.
Believe it when four men
step from a taxicab in Mosul
to shower the street in brass
and fire. Open the hurt locker
and see what there is of knives
and teeth. Open the hurt locker and learn
how rough men come hunting for souls.
--from Here, Bullet, copyright 2005 by Brian Turner