Georg asked me to pen a poem about a Vietnam Veteran (although it could be any), twice wounded, left to rot and fend for himself. He was a husband, father to twin daughters. He has not seen them since he went off to war. Ostracized by family, by a Nation that prefers to forget, he is homeless - with only medals and ribbons to chew on.

Georg said writing this would heal me of the monstrosity life's given me, and would give voice to a soldier who has been, up 'til now, unheard.

Thank you, Georg, Semper Fi, and God bless all of our men and women in uniform, who ever served, who are serving, who will serve - I will not forget. Thank you.

Medals and ribbons do
not make a meal; hard on
the teeth.  What are they worth?
Wounded twice in service
to a Nation choosing

to forget - one that took
me far from home, away
from wife and children - two
daughters.  Twins. Where were they
when I came home on a

stretcher, legs gone, my mind
nearly so?  Been forty
one years - been trying to
drown their little faces
in bottles of beer - what

do they look like now?  Do
they have kids and do their
kids have kids?  Nothing stills
the emotional storm
in my head, the questions -

the nightmares of being
homeless - forgotten - you
know, honorable does
not always mean 'treated
with respect.'  Discharge, though,

always means what it says:
left behind, with only
medals and ribbons to
chew on and memories
to use as seasoning ...

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman (2/11)