After Memorial Day for Don M.
I rode through downtown on the bus
Like I do nearly every day,
Glumly staring out the window
Trying not to think about all the work
Waiting for me.
In your place I saw a homeless guy,
In a way you would have hated.
He wasn’t selling newspapers or anything
Just lying there
Out of the wind, a few bags with him.
That was your place.
You stood there, selling newspapers every day, never missed.
Now, your current place
Is better suited to your situation,
A place where people salute, and flags are given away
To families of the heroes,
Where your friends gathered to tell stories and shed tears,
The grass is green. It is quiet.
I can picture you setting aside your book and telling me