The Image

Your bleary eyes shine
From 1941
Your smile a blend
Of booze
And the camaraderie
Of soldiers.

You had yet to hear
The thunder of artillery
The tattoo of gunfire
Or the scream of dying friends.

You would see nights
Strobbed with
Concussive shocks
And fear, bitter
In the back of your throat.

That smile
So freely worn
In your browning image
Would be little used
Until your boots
Again touched Arkansas soil.

You are a decade gone
Yet I still see
Your fatherly grin
Feel your calloused hands
On my boyish shoulders.

But I see in your image
The youthful spirit
Of a man who believed
In the possibility of hope
And the triumph of the spirit.

Booze and camaraderie
Notwithstanding.