Metal Storm

For upcoming Memorial Day – second in a series of Toritto’s war poetry

Summer sun reflected off a wheel chair
holding half the soldier he used to be
in half the body he used to have
the dent above his left ear now hidden in his hair.

His mother buys a popsicle and places it to his lips
while on the green little boys play, yelling as little boys do
soccer ball half kicked, veering toward the chair
as he lifts a withered arm, covering his widened eyes.

Little boy says he’s sorry, calls his brother asshole
and when he leaves, momma tugs the left arm
wound tightly around his face
uncovering the vacant stare and open mouth

emitting a soft sound
almost like her little boy
at her breast
so long ago.

.

 

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