Wednesday, January 16, 2008

I Got You

Remembering those summer rows
of emerald razors long and lean
that slashed across a freckled nose
intent on sniffing out some foes
in which to drain a magazine.

With gnarly sticks we’d all convene
beside that farmer’s furrowed field
alive with furtive fronds of green
to camouflage a sly marine
determined not to meekly yield.

Our bloodlust couldn’t be concealed
so anxious to say, “BANG! You’re dead!”
no treaty would be signed or sealed
or higher court could be appealed
to stop the drops that must be shed.

But after the insurgents fled
we three would make our way back home
to eat then scurry off to bed
while playing back within our head
that conflict on the fertile loam.

As oldest, I was first to roam
forsaking sod to stalk the street
beset upon by steely chrome
and tenets of a vicious tome
embedded in the hard concrete.

The front became a cold retreat
from which I never traveled back
and though we siblings seldom meet
my self absorptions still compete
with pieces I refuse to lack,

and now they’ve shipped one to Iraq
beyond the land of beaten ploughs
I feel my heart about to crack
my troubled face morosely slack
remembering those summer rows.

7 comments:

Shirley said...

Bob, this is so beautiful and sad. They say the games and rituals of childhood prepare us for life but nothing can truly prepare us for the harsh reality of it.

Bubba said...

I marvel at your ability to move a story across such a difficult form. This is a poet's poem, a piece to be admired and emulated. Thanks for sharing this with us.

rch said...

Thanks Shirley but there's so much more to the story that I haven't even touched upon yet.

Hey bubba you really know how to leave a comment, thanks a million.

Dan said...

Bob, what a wonderful poem, and sad story it tells. Hope all goes well. I often miss the simple concepts found in childhood games.

rch said...

Thanks a lot Dan. My brother's name is Ashley and if anyone is so inclined, a prayer to the deity of choice for his safe return would be greatly appreciated. Take care man,

Bob

Rob Kistner said...

Well written!

Writer’s Island… come visit.

rch said...

Thanks rob, I will!