Lawrence, Kansas (1995)
There's not much to it:
pour the drafts,
clear the ashtrays,
mix well-drinks.
The Vietnam vets
favor Jack-and-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.
The Colonel delivers
his annual speech
honoring
our fallen brothers.
Manny offers a 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 grim awareness
that all stand at the mercy
of the universe.
They drink
to animate themselves
and tell the stories
that otherwise
remain buried
in a footlocker,
too heavy
for sober conversation,
too jagged
to hand another vet,
let alone
civilians outside
eager to thank us
for our service.
**First published in G.I. Days, an anthology by Milltown Press
