Cabled Reality

The aged veteran sits idly
Upon rocker and barren porch,
Remembering

Unlike a space suit,
Its every fiber fit
By rigid established standard.

Unlike the starched khaki shirt,
Its extremities forged firm as armor,
Its pleats kept at attention.

Unlike the dress blues,
Symbolic of authority and command,
Unyielding in its façade of glory.

The sweater,
Like love,
Molds to behavior,
Forever willing to comfort the flesh
And bring warmth to the heart.

As passion's woven threads
Assimilate the wearer's hardships,
Fear of frayed ends disappear,
Knowing acceptance of entwined living
Is blessed with accident and wear.

Affection asks little in return,
Needing only to be spared
The folding into a drawer
Of forgotten recall.

Given care,
The patience of love
Remains forever dedicated,
Embracing any and all it touches.

And…

Like the tattered loyal sweater,
Judges not the body,
But dutifully complies,
Abiding the ever shrinking collapse
Of a life fully lived.

A Marine veteran rocks slowly to sleep,
His memories of the nautical Jacob's ladder,
The ship’s up-rope to safety,
Its down-rope into a barge to shoreline’s hell.

He smiles at yesteryear’s challenge of death,
The sweater’s tattered cable weave held close…

Reality just is.