“that/s a handsome young man” says a whitehaired world war ii vet w/ a twinkle
in his eye “i betcha when he gets out of this bed the ladies will be chasing him
all over town” these retired vets in their old uniforms swarm the hospital drinking
coffee out of styrofoam and harassing the nurses every five minutes a busybody
pokes his head in the room to check on “our hero” as they call him they speak
a language out of the past that i don/t understand and gerry probably can/t hear
they leave gifts he couldn/t possibly use a hershey/s bar a hand grip exerciser
a stack of old sports magazines offerings laid at the altar of their own imaginations
i want to tell them he hated the military and talked about how he could get out
he said it was full of dimwits future convicts and neo nazis gerry/s not a hero
i want to say he/s a kid who didn/t think he had any options he shit in the sink
of the first hotel we ever stayed at he blared 2 live crew on old orchard beach
he had what he said was a small heroin habit the summer before senior year
that he didn/t tell me about until after he kicked i loved him i love him in spite
of these things because of them he bought me brass knuckles i painted
matte black i squeeze them in my pocket as you preach a love poem to a flag