John Doe, The Patriot

I do not know if this is really a story, or a prose poem

It's the third of the month.
His Social Security check has just arrived.
He feels rich.

John Doe sits
with his friends
at the corner of the street,
at the local bodega,
discussing how he will spend his
government check.

He has to pay his rent
for his cramped
3 x 5 studio
that the government is subsidizing.

He gets food stamps,
which cover all the goodies that he could possibly want,
or maybe not -

John and his cronies find happiness
in the small things in life.
They are all indigent citizens of
the United States, who
have been defeated
by the system
as a result of their disabilities.

John is a veteran of Iraq,
serving the country that he thought he loved,
acting like the perfect citizen
he thought he was.

I walk down the street,
with my gait,
a result of a fall that I acquired last year.

I am such a grouch, because
walking is so hard for me,
but not that hard, that I
cannot race to get my evening munchies and cigarettes.
One would think that I would die without these amenties.

John recognizes me walking the street and shouts out

'Judy, Judy'

How does he know my name?

'I want to talk to you - I recognize you from the bodega - why are you limping?'

I feel guilty telling him my story, seeing how he is stationed in his chair,
his pants are cut like shorts, showing the bottoms of his stubs,
his hair has not been shaven in God knows how long,
his beard reaches down to his chest.

He grins at me.
I see his broken teeth which have not been brushed and are laden with tobacco.

'I used to be like you - two legs, you know....'

What did I know?
I barely left the New York area, let alone Iraq.

'Look at these runners in the New York marathon'

We were eyeing the small television screen propped up in the corner of the bodega.

' I ran the marathon.  Finished it in 3 hours.  They were all so proud of me.  Getting ready for Iraq.  Wanted to figh this damn war !  We need to get out !  Don't understand why Bush got us into this, but he is no longer - Obama will get us out.  He will change the nation.  Now that I cannot doing anything, I watch him on CNN all the time, and talk to my new buddies about the state of affairs.  Come inside, let me buy you a drink.'

Beer was of course what he meant.

'I don't want any, thank you just the same.'

What I was really saying that I did not want to be around him and his cronies. 
I was scared.  I knew too much, but did not want to know at all.

Reviews

[ValyrieKiennan]

Your line/sentence structure is excellent, however you do have the slight problem where your prose poem turns into, well, prose! i would heavily recommend you decide on one or the other (if only to be able to focus your efforts on the refining of one structure type) and refine the piece in that manner!

All in all, I look forward to seeing what you do with this piece, or others.

Cheers,

VK

[Judy]

I know - your criticism, if you will, is one of my major concerns with this piece. Do you have any suggestions how I could fix this?