MONUMENTAL SERVICEMEN
OVERLOOKING THE SEA
It's not as if you ever really know what they want :
Four Freedoms, as Wilson said, or maybe his 'war to
end all wars' or, twenty and a few years on again, a
fight to end tyranny, defend Freedom, save the dire
dregs of humanity's bottom end. You'd never know
from listening to them : 'I want to see the world, I
want women and distant travel, I want my benefits
when I'm all finished.' Instead, I notice, now, they all
sit restless - wearing caps and blue pants, sunglasses
to fend off their bad eyes. They're all dying off, one
by one, almost gone now, to the last man.
Who the hell knows why? Not me.
-
I'm staring straight into the blinding sun just behind
this damned old statue of a military man. He's holding
a firearm - some big-ass rifle - and has his unbuckled
helmet somewhat twisted on his head. His face, undergoing
some form of torment, seems twisted back, as if to look
at what he'd just left, or perhaps his buddy, already gone
done. What a dismal, pale sad sight - I really cannot
look, and I thank the sun for blinding me. Or was that
some atomic flash - something I'd not known of,
or something of which I had not heard? How much
time do I have left? How much time at all?
Oh God, do I really want the answer.
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