The Vet
Vietnam Veteran stands on the corner,
a sign in his hand, "will work for food."
Empty bottles litter the ground around him,
holding him down while he broods.
His chest is adorned with medals of valor,
he wears battle scarred jacket with pride.
Yet there he stands lost in the squalor,
amongst the filth and garbage he hides.
He feeds at the soup kitchens on the street,
moving from one shelter to another.
Salvation of soul the price he must meet,
to share this repast with miseries brother.
What happened that brought him to this state,
just a shadow of the man he used to be.
Was it "the war" or was it a matter of fate,
please tell me, it could have been me.
Kevin F. Dustin
