Lawrence, Kansas (1995)
There's not much to it:
pour the drafts,
clear the ashtrays,
mix well-drinks.
The Vietnam vets
favor Jack-n-Coke.
The WWII crowd,
Scotch-and-Soda.
Our only Korean War vet
takes his brandy neat.
We keep a bottle of St. George
behind the bar for him.
An occasional floor sweep
exceeds expectations.
Christmas décor is tacked up
year 'round.
Campaign insignias
and service ballcaps
line a smoke-filled perimeter
that obscures all
but the exit signs.
It's Memorial Day,
and the Colonel delivers
his annual speech
honoring the sacrifice
of our fallen brothers.
Manny offers a solemn toast,
"To the lost."
Jason buys another round
of shots.
To remember them,
they drink.
They drink
and beat their chests
in solidarity.
They drink
with the awareness
that all
are at the mercy
of the universe.
They drink
to animate themselves
and tell the stories
that otherwise
remain buried
in the footlocker of experiences
for which they do not
posses the tools
to relate
to one another,
let alone
civilians outside
eager to thank us
for our service.
**First published in G.I. Days, an anthology by Milltown Press
