memorial day--1986
the rain cascades down
from gray banks of clouds
hovering over the village square
appropriate i think
futilely holding an umbrella
over my son and myself
a meager turn out of campaign-hatted old vets
their devoted auxiliary women steadfast beside
them
a scattering of other curious by-standers
they murmur nodding solemn heads in unison
at the patriotic sound-bites of politicians
waxing rhetorically over static-filled loudspeakers
a squad of full dress Marines
as a spit-shined honor guard
sight along their M-16s raised skyward
taps echo somber across the crowd
grizzled old veterans ramrod straight
sharp report of a 21-gun salute
out of place in Nike running shoes
and Vietnam Veterans Against the War t-shirt
i can't answer my six-year-old's queries:
"Why do the soldiers have guns, Daddy?"
"Who are they shooting at, Daddy?
"Daddy, please, can I shoot one, too?"
as the rain-limp red, white & blue lowers
i shift from foot to foot
try to quiet my insistent son
wonder why the tears
stream down only my face
mirroring the rain around me
want to hug so tightly--
like her adolescent grandson--
the Goldstar Mother who shivers and sobs
Memorial day, 1986
Islip, New York
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