old soldier’s gather at the pubs;
drinking fire water to be forgotten.
The
men speak in broken tongues
and
christened words
about
all that was
sacrificed.
They swallow libations for
our
future and the memory of our past.
A lame soldier enters this coven,
younger than most,
a gun at his side, a knife in his heart.
Noticeably
changed
by the chemicals in his
veins,
the voices in his head.
The
old men toast his good fortune.
“The
warrior has arisen and
come back a man of honor!”
He takes count of the fallen
before him,
the damaged man
no longer remembers who he was.
This
lame warrior now recognizes
that which was always before
him for the first time.
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