It’s not hard to remember
that younger Marine,
full of himself,
a lean, green machine.
But there are mirrors in the home,
so it’s easy to know
that the warranty passed
a long time ago.
The tank’s low on oil,
some parts in distress,
the flex-drive’s departed,
and this he’ll confess,
the hands are arthritic,
the eyesight is poor,
the homestead, of course,
is only one floor.
The doohickey’s broken,
the gizmo’s a bust,
the thingamabob’s full
of whatsis and rust.
And yet, though much life
is confined to quarters,
he’s still a Marine,
home, awaiting orders.
No comments:
Post a Comment