Poetry

I am really not happy with this week's poetry. But here it is:


Assateague

As I lay in my canvas abode
listening to the waves wash up on shore,
I heard the clip-clop footsteps
of the approaching animal.
With one glance I realized
I was the only one;
my sisters were snuggled and sleeping
soundly in their sleeping bags,
finally escaping the itch of the mosquito bites
and sand.
Laying as still as I could,
I watched the silhouette of the beast
near our tent until it stopped outside of my open window.
The horse turned its head
and seemed to look inside.
I could feel its hot breath through
the sheer polyester window.
It seemed to look right at me,
and I stared right back.
With one last breath, it broke
our connection
and turned to leave,
possibly to visit another camp
in hopes of food.


Okinawa

He never does talk about it.
When I was young,
I figured he didn’t think I would
understand. But now that I’m older,
I still haven’t heard the stories
about the base in Okinawa.
He says he did it so he could go to college
and he figured he’d be going either way,
so why not go willingly?
He says Japan is a beautiful country
that he would like to go back and visit.
He says he fixed helicopters and airplanes
but refuses to acknowledge that it cost him
his hearing.
Despite his silence,
every year I give him a Veteran’s Day card.
He says thanks, pretending it is like any other
card, and with one last glance,
tucks it on the bookcase
out of sight.