Sgt. Israel Garcia Leaves Afghanistan
Home boy came home stiff.
Not like his new widow’s upper lip.
“Fallen hero” said the local rag,
not “another one in a body bag.”
Proud flag wavers hearts don’t skip,
knowing they’ll never take that trip.
The Ritual
He and the battle went down two weeks
before his third tour would have ended.
Twenty-four and done with
the chore of living.
On the local paper’s page three
you could see
a thumb nail portrait of him—
a three column picture of
the widow, mother and father.
“I have three children
and they’re all safe
because of Sgt. Garcia”
the U.S. Representative supposed.
“It’s an important day for us—
and a sad day” said mom Maricruz.
Dad Victor still looked stunned.
Sunglasses guarded Lesly’s eyes
from inquisitive stares and the glare of
posthumous Silver and Bronze Stars
—and other chest salad.
And Israel?
He existed, enlisted and desisted
but lingers in them for lasting,
and private,
ceremonies.
--
Still Life With Dead Hippie
It's all in the point of view. Suppose you have your
sophored out sophomore slumped on the sidewalk
in the foreground. Never made it to the bar.
His buddy's embarrassed, his girl outraged.
No fun tonight, Hon!
Or, maybe this feminist witch is exercising her anger
on this newly stricken MCP (male chauvinist pig).
As the stunned bastard in bellbottoms looks for reasons.
It could be a pink-faced VC broad trying to grasp the life that's just flown
from your unfavorite dumb son. And,
she has no right to cry out in plain sight. To be so
full of pain. You have to blame her for the cluck's bad luck.
Of course, what it was, was these dirty, rotten,
vicious whore kids - standing around watching the
overarmed, undertrained National Guard about to go wild.
And, yeah, those kids were fools.
Some of them believing in democracy & free speech & other book stuff.
As if they belonged in the real world.
Out there chunking rocks & flowers & slogans & curses.
Full of dope, sex, & unAmerican anti-war ideas.
They were coming out of class, out of their stupor, sitting on & smoking grass.
Reminding you! something's wrong & someone has to do something.
So, it's their fault it's not their fault!
Then we find out: there were no snipers or
syphilitic commie call girls recruiting on campus.
And that one girl was just a terrified 14-year-old runaway.
Barely old enough to bleed but the right age to understand the deed.
And, did you ever notice how that cheap statue,
down there in Columbus, of that used car salesman
toting forged registrations past the Capitol building
looks just like Governor Rhodes?
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