Once the foggy mirth of war
Has lifted from the bedroom floor, he
Finds himself at lone at last, ties a noose,
Makes it fast.
And climbes upon his hardwood desk.
As though stepping up to the batting plate,
He makes a decision about his fate,
Makes it fast.
Gasping, gaping, flailing, fighting
One sad mistake and now he’s frighting. The
Noose, so tight has cut his supply, lending
Poignancy to his desperate cry
For a help that never came
in spite of all the Novocaine.
And there he dangles, limp and lifeless,
Left alone, child-and-wife-less.
A soldier in a far-off land,
Accidental hero of a fight,
Sufferer of an indignant plight
that none could ever understand
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