Those who come home
by Bruce Alan Humphrey
Sunday, August 04, 2013
Not rated by the Author.
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The veterans who come home.
I am sorry, I cannot use my arms, but I can work.
I am sorry, I cannot use my legs, but I can work.
I am sorry, I cannot see, but I can work.
I am sorry, I am a little jittery, but I can work.
Please, can you give me a job?
Please, I need a job.
I am sorry you cannot use your arms, we have nothing for you.
I am sorry you do not have any legs, but we need you to stand for long hours.
I am sorry you cannot see, but all of our work is visual.
I am sorry that you are not stable, but you have to interact with others.
I am sorry; we do not have a job for you.
I cannot reach into my pocket for some change for the bus; someone is kind and does it for me, then steals it.
I cannot roll too well in the snow; the tires of my wheel chair keep slipping.
I cannot see, the terrain is unfamiliar to me. My touch stick touches a curb. I step off and I car nearly hits me. The driver screams at me and drives away.
I cannot talk to others because I get angry. I sit alone in the corner of a restaurant.
My hand is out hoping someone will take it and help.
My hand is out for help, not sympathy.
My hand is out reaching for life.
My hand is out, hoping for a smile.
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|Reviewed by Barbara Henry
|Your moving poem reveals the sad truth about how our
returning wounded are treated; they did not enlist with disabilities.
I too am deeply grieved by the non-chalant way these
men and women are treated,and like you, I attempt to
raise awareness through poetry.
Let's continue to pray that one day soon, things will be
easier for "those who come home."
Thanks for Sharing this moving work,and keep doing so.
Barbara J Henry