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Veterans of the Seventies

Rating: 4.5

His army jacket bore the white rectangle
of one who has torn off his name. He sat mute
at the round table where the trip-wire veterans
ate breakfast. They were foxhole buddies
who went stateside without leaving the war.
They had the look of men who held their breath
and now their tongues. What is to say
beyond that said by the fathers who bent lower
and lower as the war went on, spines curving
toward the ground on which sons sat sandbagged

with ammo belts enough to make fine lace
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Saturday, August 29, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: veterans
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Ratnakar Mandlik 19 February 2016

What an irony? Beautifully elaborated. Thanks for sharing.

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Gajanan Mishra 29 August 2015

without leaving the war.. good wording..

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