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Dana Lipp
Just a Vet
I'm living Vietnam
Every day
Every day
The shattering of souls
Gone mad
Leaving only shells
Lonely shells
It makes me feel so sad
I sit in my room
At the Holiday Inn
Hammered hard by beer
Obscured by the smoke
Of cigarettes
There's nothing I don't fear
I sit for hours on end
For I own only time
There's bread-bait
Carefully place in the hall
That I know the mice will find
They'll sneak right up
Through the shag
Like soldiers on that fateful day
And their eyes will show
The very same look
When I blow those damn mice away
I can't be touched
I'm too far gone
Retreated, can't you see?
For I've gone to places
You'll never know and this is what's left of me
Sparkling Steel
Looking in my direction
With a gaze indecipherable
He stood in front of the store
Toes at the edge of the curb
Killing time
Or just letting it pass
Like the cars on the street before him
Black leather jacket and wild curly hair
Suggested dark thoughts,
Foreboding
At close range
I shot two rounds with hope...
A smile,
A "Good Morning"
His countenance broke
With the recoil
And he responded with a smile,
With gentleness
And disarming kindness from semi-sad eyes
And then, upon passing
I saw the sparkling steel,
Cold and lifeless
From the dangling leather sleeve
Gripping a set of keys.
Stuff
After you died,
we split up the stuff
Remaining
The stuff of monetary value
In your house
The stuff I could wedge
Into my small apartment
I never really wanted much
Except for the stuff
You can't buy
And couldn't give
Some stuff I gave away foolishly
And now regret the loss
But back in the hospital
the nurses had given me
what you no longer needed
your wristwatch,
for your time had gone
and your eyeglasses,
bifocals for aging eyes,
prescription for reading
And for some reason,
I'm not exactly sure why
I held them up to the light
Maybe it's just a natural thing we do
Sometimes,
To somehow see
Through another's eyes
And on one lens was
The track of a tear
Dried in its salty path
The stuff of oceans
Waves rising and falling
No more
I'm sorry you had to die
alone
But you were a private person
And sadly,
Possibly,
More comfortable dying on your own
Never wanting to be a burden, as you'd often said
You died as you had lived
With selfless consideration for others
Somehow even waiting
For Christmas Day to pass before leaving
And now I can't help but wonder
What kind of tears they were
If only I could taste them
To know
Were they simply salty?
Or also sweet?
Were they bitter with regret?
And so I'm left with my endless wondering
About this most priceless gift of all
If only
I could have dried them for you.
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