Basra,2004 Poem by Donal Mahoney
Basra,2004
He doesn’t cry about it
anymore. No tears
in years. On occasion, though,
those who know him
see his good arm fly,
fist up, just above his eye.
So far the sun each time
has backed away,
allowing him to walk,
his good arm ready,
through the village
one more time
where he and others
picked off Shia
on a birdless
summer day.
Sunday, August 16, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: war veterans
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4/23/2024 9:02:13 PM # 1.0.0.1119
