Appreciate the Purple Heart
 

Before e-mail, before instant feeds,
you caught a cab to the bus station,
your heart in your mouth.
In your purse, a telegram on yelling
yellow spelling out,  I n j u r e d
. . ..line of. . .battle.  C o u r a g e.
You are rigid with not falling apart.
Two hospitals in two unimaginable
countries, and all those lost pounds
later, he is on his way home.  But
will it be?   Will he stay with the arm
blown away in a trench, along with
two friends?   Will only the sleeve
step off empty?  Will you be
making love picturing hell?  Will he?
All those empty nights.  Years alone
in a crowd.  Guilt of picturing you
in the arms of some stranger.
Him.  
Shame of coupling in unbidden dreams
with a co-worker you do not like.
With a flame from your high school
days who got rejected for flat feet.
How many reservations rear?
Done is done.  Start over.
What will he look like?   What
will he see?  Is his innocence
gone?  Forever?  What of yours?
Station’s in a bad part of town.
Broken walks blur by, and weeds.
Boarded gas station, empty pumps,
bar-wearing store. Heart hammering
like a tom-tom.  Fix your bangs, quick.
Already feel tugging open. . .racing over
tile, through fumes. . .up to the bus. . .
. . .soon, darling, soon!
 
Post e-mail, post instant feeds,
post the time when taking a bus
is most common, couples reel.  
Love,  laugh, cry.  Fight, plan,
back off, and start agai--
BOOM