I brought him back with his guts gouged out
By a piece of shrapnel,
And all the way back, thank God, I wasn’t thinking.
Not once did it come to me he might leave someone.
Not once did I think he wasn’t just like me.
Until today, today told all I’ve lost.
You no longer love me.
Two old folks I’m fond of need me.
I may be their life; I’ve none of my own.
And today I’ve wondered and worried at the thoughts
Tapping on my skull’s sides,
Wondered will they wax or wane, go in or out,
And wished all the while,
Why weren’t my guts gouged?
Why couldn’t it be me with the shrapnel?
Till now I never knew.
Every man, each of us has his own shrapnel,
His own private piercing.
The Corner of WWII and Dear John~Writer’s Journal~page 22~September/October 2006