anchor, trident, pistol, eagleA Poem by Mia Sparrowthe old man used to sit on the porch of the roominghouse drinking pabst and smoking american spirits hooked up to an oxygen tank. his purple heart shared a drawer with the phillips head screwdriver and stanley lever lock not even in the velvet box. a Little Creek SEAL but a Frogman forever clandestine and streamlined he’s the last of team 2. torpedoed out of subs leapfrogged into jungles surprised the guerillas who knew him as the man with the green face he fought for his country while his neighbor went to college and wrote poetry instead. the kids who ran his errands listened to tales of feint and deception from the bravest man they'll ever know. his name won't be etched on any wall nor will this tribute reach him today but i want to thank him for his patriotism. sometimes poetry isn't enough. © 2016 Mia SparrowReviews
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4 Reviews Added on August 15, 2014 Last Updated on August 10, 2016 Author
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