“THANK YOU FOR YOUR
SERVICE”
These
things I dream
need
cave words --
sounds
that grunt and spit
and stumble through the mud.
Day
was a flash
a
smear, the whine of rounds
from
nowhere overhead
a
silent slump, a shoulder
pumping
blood that
couldn’t
hold a
dressing,
wouldn’t stop.
My
buddies swore to shield
each
other – cave-words too.
But
most of them are dead.
Nights
policing
moonless
quiet for what
might
crawl out behind --
that’s
where I live now
waiting
for the bomb
the
flare, the fireball glare
and
smash that slams you
off
your feet or melts
the
vehicle ahead.
But
thank you for the thought.
It
might as well be French
or
come from Mars -- some
Barca-lounger
place
that
I can’t reach.
I’ll
smile and nod
and
keep my armored peace.
As You Were, Vol. 12 (Military Experience and the Arts, Summer 2020)