Old Soldier
Loading ...He welcomes me again.
I tell him where I’ve been;
he has been nowhere else.
And I rest my head and wait in
darkness as he talks of pineapple.
He recounts Hawaii and every
car he ever owned. Veterans
linger with memories random
as bingo. He asks if I have ever
been in a jet. He asks me if my
hands are still cold. I feed him
bites of ice cream and hear
someone swear down the hall.
He says bananas grow upwards.
I say my hands are warm now.
The Old Soldier by Marge Fulton, unless otherwise expressly stated, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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I happened upon this by pure chance and have been touched by its simple haiku-like images of a decaying mind packed with rich memories, now strewn randomly across this old soldier’s inner landscape. Beautifully done, thanks.