Monday, April 16, 2018

Poem: Never Forgotten

He sits alone in the airport,
white hair beneath a cap with
U.S. Naval insignia.
Trembling hands cradle
a steaming cup of coffee.

Respectfully I extend a hand,
"Where did you serve, sir?"
His blue eyes lift to mine,
there is a pause, followed
by a firm, dry handshake.
"Korea", he says, '52 to '56...
two tours... a destroyer."

Our clasped hands hold
as we speak. I say that my
friend's father was there
at that time as well, inland,
but didn't make it home.
He says something... stumbling,
broken bits of language,
words that cannot convey.

His eyes fill, as do mine.
He lets go my hand and says,
"I served...",with a tight jaw
and looks past my shoulder.
"Thank you for your service."
He nods and lowers his eyes.

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