Michael Pollick Poetry

Do not whisper near them, sweet children,
for war is loud.

Men who served with General Anzio
find time for the occasional Bingo,
and find that corn on the cob
can be quite the challenge.

I am sitting here among these men with steel
feeling like I haven't defended a bloody thing
and discussing the weather like it really matters,
avoiding direct eye to wound contact
as if he weren't aware that something was missing.

I steady my plate of civvy rations,
chicken and barbecue,
presented by the galley wives and
blessed by a man dusted off from Iwo Jima.

I am a fake and a fraud and a phony tonight,
surrounded by real men, with real stories
about fish fries and city council requests,
moving crab-like towards the banana pudding

Tonight I shook the hands
of the luckiest men
on the face of the planet,
and felt like something inside
was going to fall apart any minute now.

Do not stare directly into the flare,
dear children, for War is patient-

It invites
us all
to
meetings.

Poet: Michael Pollick