A Soldier Writes

I am that army of one, America

I am one arm, America

I took the word of those

Who had a need

I am a child of trust

I have protected you

Poor boy of S. Clairsville, Ohio

School grades nothing to brag about

My choices only a few, America

And the recruiter nice enough, America

My Uncle Ed wondered why no protest

Told of hte Sixties and street marches

Pardon me, but those days had a draft

And rich and poor looked death in the eye

Today I stand special and brave

Watch your lives go on

Your SUVs fly by, America

Your games played as before, America

While here every so often a limb disappears

And we get to go home

For awhile we are heroes

But I understand you have lives to live

Things to buy and all that

Listen, I can take your glance

And the whispers behind my back

The “Wonder how it happened”:

No need for pity

I¹m proud

But in a dream I walk down by block

And sweet Susanne smiles

Until she sees my arm

Black as a chimney sweep¹s face

Her scream is mine as I sit up in bed

Know I am done when I reach for the light chain

With a shoulder that has no fingers.

— Greg Moglia

 

Greg Moglia lives in Huntington, NY. His work has appeared in Paterson Liberary Review, Birmingham Literary Review, and anthologized in Earth Shattering Poems and Roots and Flowers, edited by Liz Rosenberg (H. Holt & Co.).