Soldiers Dust Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

I shy away from those flag-waving
patriots you can find at most meetings
of the local Legion post. Sad old guys
with rheumy eyes and arthritic limbs
sitting cheek by jowl at the bar jabbering
at length about things that they know
nothing about with glib self-assurance.
The campaign ribbons pinned to caps
are the credentials they offer in lieu
of worldly achievement. 'Once upon
a time I was young and a soldier! '

And so was I!
But I deign membership
in such a group of brown-shirts
and toadies who wear their shame
for all the world to see and laugh at
and in the end to ignore and shun.

I tuck a fivespot in the can on the bar
in gratitude for my good fortune -
God speed to the cemetery, lads!