Losing It ~Dusty

Spending time with Heddy and Eleanor
(they sit high up on panel 31E),
oblivious of the swirling tourists,
I slither through time to a warmer place
where lives were new and faces fresh,
where hopes yet lived and ghosts did not.

The lissome figure and dancing eyes
of the uniformed child suddenly beside me
break my heart as she diffidently requests
the honor of my presence--
me, already a veteran before she was born,
a rusting relic wrinkled and fading,
the war lingering on me like yesterday's garlic:
". . . in front of the women's statue . . .
. . . be so thrilled . . .
. . . mean so much if you . . .
. . . Veterans Day and all."

I'm too cowardly to shout "Stop!  You don't know!"
and too civilized to refuse:
like losing her virginity, she will do it anyway.

My vintage fatigues bear witness
as the major intones the oath:
". . . duty . . . Constitution . . .  of America."
But my heart counts a different cadence
learned on all-to-active duty
("Watch out girlie, don't get stung;
Army Nurse Corps eats her young.")

Hair neatly braided, uniform creaseless, 
carriage prideful, the ANC's newest officer 
receives her first salute,
along with an old nurse's fervent prayer-- 
Dear Lt. Altman, my wish for you
this Veterans' Day--
may you never, ever have 
any war stories to tell.