Poetry

Leftovers

He died in a hail of bullets
hail like in a storm
but, this was his last storm
he died in uniform so, there are honors, and flags
he died amongst comrades
so there are tears and terrors
there is the wondering who will be next
he died leaving children and spouse
so, there is a funeral, widow and fatherless children
there is grief so deep that no light may penetrate for a time
there are the high school friends and sweetheart who had not seen him for a while, feeling his loss the more keenly for that lapse
there are the mother and father, the sister and two brothers, the aunts and uncles,
his clothes, his car, his books, his thoughts as written or, spoken to all those he knew
all must find there consolations or not
all consume some part of the leftovers
from a dinner which should never have been served