A man walks in, obviously a veteran,
to the shop I work in. Obvious if you
notice the nub and skin on his left hand. Some hiss

from a bullet in a chamber, some
shrapnel spinning. We are the lost selves
of our cells, of our quests to win. Love
and flesh living in our hands.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

One thought on “Veteran

  1. As I read your poem…I thought of the veterans that I see along the streets of San Diego…now homeless and forsakened by the country they served so proudly…disregarded by those whose wealth was and is dependent upon their sacrifice …sorry I’ll get off my soapbox…I found your poem well said.

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