The Home Poem by The Poet SPIEL

The Home

The Home

Each time old Homer has visited his Eleanor,
the home has tidied the poor woman the best it could.
All the workers here are so nice.

That helpful old gal who wears a Betty Boop apron shared her ear plugs so the now decrepit soldier wouldn't have to stomach all those screams up and down the halls.

But he gave them back because they were not Eleanor's and because they did not meet his persnickety military standards.

Now, it's sixty years since service to his country, he still believes Eleanor is the Betty Grable blonde he'd found weeping beneath a lilac tree when she'd feared every American hero was going to perish during the second war.

But with this cocky soldier's furlough back home, and with the musky odor of his flesh inside her,
he'd forever changed her mind.

Rotten smells and wailing in the home cannot divide the two of them; but he has to trust the faithful attendants to guide him to her room where he hopes the essence of lilacs will, at last, identify her.

Yet, each time, as he lies atop her, the crusty warrior prays aloud that she might once more cry his rank.

_____The Poet SPIEL

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