Look at them now, the boys of summer,
classmates from high school
older than they ever dreamed they’d be,
moving carefully, cautiously,
wondering where all the curls went.
My heroes are startled by “old man” jabs,
tossed too casually
by those too young to know
that Grandpa once waded through jungles,
wet and hungry, sometimes bleeding,
but never quitting.
That “move a little faster” kid
behind them in the checkout line
doesn’t know that same man once carried
his buddy through gunfire,
or kept moving with a bullet in his own gut,
because someone had to.
Look at them now
our soldiers
who went, drafted or not,
to serve,
to suffer,
too many, to die.
Now they walk a little bent,
a little slow
for those in too much of a hurry
to remember.
They overlook real heroes,
these rushing souls
but they should be pausing,
they should be bowing
as the keepers of our freedoms
pass them by.