Quiet,
a military man.
a guardian to the sea.
an anchor n’ flag
tattoo under his jacket sleeve
you’d have never known,
he’d have never said
the lives he saved
or worse…
the ones he couldn’t
(memory: a helicopter pulling those faces away)
Whiskey and Water
he’d have sat alone at the bar-
stoic; glazed into some place afar,
out off the coast of his old port town
where he’d settled himself down just to be closer to his old stomping grounds…
(a base not far off)
he would dream of the ocean,
wish to go back…
the days weren’t long behind
at twenty six there were still desk jobs to find
he fought the thought..
but hobbling up and along,
he murmured, looked down at his left leg
“You’re a seaman, but one sea leg is gone”
You’d have never known,
He’d have never said…
What happened the night he
lost his leg in one woman’s stead
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