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21st SirMask

Poems - Fortunate Son

Fortunate Son

by maryanns

Fortunate son, you sit outside the northeast gate
to contemplate an opaque future. Meditate
with due religious zeal. This is the single goal
you’ve struggled towards for months, survival.

Liberation dawned on Monday morn to bugles
blown across the quad. The sound of boots
pounding wooden barracks floors in cadence.
You kept your eyes squeezed closed in silence.

Troops stream by your bunk; eyes underneath
worn wool blankets, coarse clenched fists
clasped together in sweat wet clinging sheets.
No need to know the warriors being sacrificed.

Discharge came with paperwork in no surprise,
reams of unread forms shoved up your nose.
Sign this, initial that from a fresh faced puss;
you’ve held your usual lip, just get it over with.

Freedom comes with no regrets; rucksacks wait
by itchy feet for transport off the noisy base.
Quiet is what you need; space and time to heal
blood shot eyes, chapped lips and lethal dreams.

----------------------------

For my son Mike and his family
and all the others who make it safely home
from army life. I wish you peace.

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