SALUTE
The streets are
lined, again.
The crowd bustles
about.
A few stores are open
for patrons,
Children pull at
their parents pants,
He takes it all in
with grim determination
The past enough far
behind.
The assembly area is
full of activity,
Organizers scurry
about with a purpose,
For some it it there
first,
For him, it is a
lifetime of honor.
The clock approaches
10:00am,
The crowd become
restless as children squirm.
Some stand by the
curb for a good view,
Others are hoisted to
shoulders,
Some sit on lawn
chairs wondering why they came.
His eyes never waver
from the street.
A gunshot is heard,
It marks the
beginning of festivities.
The shot makes him
shudder.
He thinks back of
youth lost,
He remembers the deep
snow,
The hot tropics,
The smell of cordite.
He forces a tear
back.
A cadence booms far
away,
"Is it the sound
of gunfire,
or is it a lost
memory?"
His eyes strain to
see the coming spectacle.
One by one, the lead
cars slowly pass by,
He politely waves
with acknowledging eyes.
The children jostle
for the bits of candy tossed.
Moms and dads tousle
with the little ones.
He pays them not
minds,
for they are only
children.
What do they know of
the cost?
His hands gently move
over his brass buttons,
making sure no
creases show.
The medals are highly
polished,
The Eagle shines
brightly from his cover,
Again, he fights a
tear.
He knows why he came,
He knows the pain and
the cost,
He was there.
He held men in pain,
He saw lives
extinguished in a blink,
He fights back the
memories,
the cries of help,
the cries of sorrow,
the sounds of battle.
The memories are a
heavy weight.
He smiles at a small
toddler,
who accidentally
bumps into a wheel.
The chair wobbles
just bit.
He places a kind
smile to the tot.
The child retreats to
his parents.
There, there they
are.
The sight of the
banners fill him with pride.
He knows what it
still stands for.
He knows the price of
letting it blow.
The closer they
approach,
the past creeps in
with each perfect step.
St. Mere Eglise,
Caen, Falaisese, and Bastogne.
"Was it only
yesterday Joe fell, or was it Billy?"
It matters not, for
many followed them at,
Saigon, Khe Sanh,
Hue, and TET.
He remember the
letters to parents of those who fell,
but never met:
Tarawa, Tinian,
Peleliue, Iwo Jima and Okinawa.
He wears the pains of
many with the medals.
They performed when
called,
They shirked nothing,
Yet sacrificed all.
The memories almost
overwhelm him with pride and grief,
A weathered hand
gently pats on his right.
"Sammy, are you
ready?"
The voice is strong,
yet comforting.
"Yes
Martha,"
They are closer now.
He pushes the locks
on the chair,
braces his hands and
prepares to rise,
to pay tribute for
those before and to come.
A small tear slides
down the weathered face
A young voice is
barely audible,
as the banner becomes
brighter and closer.
"Look mommy,
that man is crying. Why?'
Her face turns a
light scarlet.
They are ten meters
and closing,
He summons the
strength to stand.
He struggles to rise,
He must rise, he must
pay tribute.
They are all his
brothers.
He can no longer
raise a rifle for safety,
He can only stand in
honor for those fallen.
The effort become
more difficult each passing year.
His strength fails
when he needs it most,
He curses softly as
his body fails!
They are only five
meters away.
He must rise and stand!
Two young strong
hands appear from the crowd,
Without a word, they
lift him up,
ever standing vigil
for balance.
He looks neither left
or right,
but straight into the
past.
The colors of the
Armed Forces are now two meters away.
He straightens a crooked
back,
adjusts his cover,
and with the
forgotten strength of youth,
raises his right hand
and salutes the colors.
The young men return
the salute,
and then stop.
The crowd stares in
awed silence,
for the commander has
stopped the parade.
They stand as
straight as a pillar,
neither looking left
or right.
The commander barks
an order.
The men take one step
forward,
and lower the colors.
They stand one meter
from the old soldier.
The parade has
stopped.
Organizers
frantically run about,
the cause is unknown.
then they see it.
It wasn't in the
program,
but they feel the
electricity in the air.
Is it electricity of
something more?
The commander barks
another order.
The group return a
solid salute.
They salute the man
and what he wears,
A small blue ribbon attached
to a five point medal.
The young commander
approaches his brother.
The street is hushed
in silence as the words flow.
"Thank you, from
a very grateful nation, General."
He fights back the
tears and the memories.
He fights for
balance, yet the strong hands assist.
"No" comes
a chocked response.
"Thank you for
remembering us."
The tears pour
freely.
The emotions of
fallen comrades erupt as he weeps.
never wavering with
his salute.
For an instant life
has become an eternity,
for like a giant
force,
The crowd faces the
men,
and without any
prompting or fanfare,
apply and return the
salute to the men.
The General slowly
(with help),
slides back into the
chair.
The squad returns to
the street,
each deep in thought
as their tears also fall.
Without a word, they
proceed forward.
The parade resumes,
but with a new force,
A force of arms, a
force of purpose,
A force displaying
pride and freedom.
It is Memorial Day
for the fallen.
"Martha, till
next year?"
Copyright@2011 LDDJ
Enterprises Publishing
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