Black & White Television Poem by Joe Nemeth

Spent casings pool, and blood puddles, in the foreboding trenches,
The floral decorations border sunny park benches.

Ducking and weaving, taking cover as the glass borders bullet holes,
And pure white milk cascades, into sugary cereal bowls.

Crawling in fear, amidst fields of crimson barbed wires,
Yarn in hand, running the park with fellow kite-flyers.

Grimy stretchers, wincing at the sting of the stitches,
Taking a look and finding a shiny new dollar, once lost in roadside ditches.

Rusty trench knife, frantic radio calls, land-mine gardens,
Budding young life, soup-stain overalls, fresh new kindergartens,

Blood-soaked gloves, the ricochets hiss, this dark and dangerous foray,
High-school loves, very first kiss, this bright and beautiful wedding day,

One shot, and it’s all over, this terrifying last act of a man life is done,
A new home, amidst fields of clover, underneath the setting sun with his newborn one.

The memories of a soldier can be absolutely terrifying,
But those are the last ones he remembers as he’s dying.