All 1 entries tagged Military

Draft, March 2008

She dreams of the moment

when a uniformed man

comes with his brittle bag of bones

to her little suburban door.

The man is gone

he will tell her

they blew his arms and legs

and now his head

is popped open

on some other cultures dust.

She dreams of how she falls

leg weak to the kitchen stones.

Her love is just red bones

and all his pride

is left to her to bear.

She must be so inordinately proud,

silent sobbing in the pews

where all the men who knew her man

are screwing up their eyes

Some pity her pale face

and most admire

her quiet pride

accepting grace

and sad propriety.

They do not see her secret acts:

walking naked through the home

alone and rubbing ash and oils

into the places he could touch

or when she tears newspapers up

to chew on when her tongue is gone

or turning his clothes inside out

to find the arm hairs he has left.

They send the medals with salutes

they send the cheques by men in suits

they send reporters too polite

to note that she has tired eyes

Another uniformed man comes

to enquire why

she starves

and lies among the smelt out clothes,

terminal, from some weakness,

or disease, in-between her neck

and diaphragm.

: 28 Mar 2008 16:58 |  Tags: Creative Love Military Poem Poetry Writing |  Comments (0) |  Close comments |  Report a problem