anchor, trident, pistol, eagle

the old man used to sit on the porch of the roominghouse

drinking pabst and smoking american spirits

hooked up to an oxygen tank.

his purple heart shared a drawer

with the phillips head screwdriver

and stanley lever lock

not even in the velvet box.

a Little Creek SEAL

but a Frogman forever

clandestine and streamlined

he’s the last of team 2.

torpedoed out of subs

leapfrogged into jungles

surprised the guerillas

who knew him as

the man with the green face

he fought for his country

while his neighbor went to college

and wrote poetry instead.

the kids who ran his errands

listened to tales

of feint and deception

from the bravest man

they'll ever know. 

his name won't be etched on any wall 

nor will this tribute reach him today 

but i want to thank him for his patriotism. 

sometimes poetry isn't enough.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

There is a certain winsome-cum-oddness about this piece, perhaps due to the detached persepctive; there's no agenda here, or at least nothing overt. There's a certain seriousness about the whole piece, but it doesn't take itself too seriously, if that makes any sense. It's nicely visual and well-constructed; it's a damn fine piece of work.

[Roger Turgeon]

A sad description of an aging soldier wonderfully penned

[Alfred Kukitz]

As a veteran you have made me very proud Mia. Love the haunting feel.

[m.s.early]

Brilliant imagery and characterization. The starkness of how some give all is eloquently displayed. Thank you for dignifying a veteran.