No Trouble Here

(Thoughts of an American soldier working with Iraqi soldier.)

What would the sunset reveal,
If not the color
That springs from the detritus
Of embedded armies?

I could share this pot
With the local beside me,
But what would we do for conversation?
He doesn’t speak English.

If he spoke English
Maybe we wouldn’t be here.
We could simply explain our concerns
And how we mean to do right.

Guy looks scared.
Guess I look the same,
Just more stuff on my belt.
Don’t like this place.

Tangerines

I got the tomatoes.
Squeezed them a little,
Not knowing what I might
Be testing for.

Vons, redone,
Felt a lot nicer
The tangerines looked particularly tempting
But I had come for tomatoes, just tomatoes.

Halting at the door,
Weighing the idea of tangerines,
Wondering if my pay-grade
Allowed for such free lance purchases?

Undecided, my miserly nature took hold.
“I might not eat them. They could be tasteless”
And other neurotic notions
Skidded between my ears.

OK, no tangerines!
What was $2.25?
A test of my frugality?
There must be a larger principle.

Now, a block from the supermarket,
It seemed absurd to go back.
Consider the time wasted.
But, I wanted a tangerine.

Feeling like a very poor
Version of the “Lady and the Lion”,
I chose to retrace my steps.
And with kudos to Robert Frost,
“It Made All the Difference”.

The Sound of Freedom

It must recall some great moments.
Rising off the carrier deck,
Fulll loaded, looking for the enemy,
Explosive engines at full throttle.

That’s the sound of freedom.
My neighbor turns to me for a high five
Or just a smiling confirmation.
I must look confused.

Maybe he can distinguish
Between the jet that is just passing
And the sound of other jet fighters,
Ones he hasn’t flown?

I hear power, without agenda.
Had there been a sound from Silver,
The Lone Rangers steed,
That would have meant freedom.

I think there was.
Bad guys beware!
Help was coming.
Surely, the masked man would save the day?

Some small, long-forgotten ember
Of my childhood’s delight reignites
As the FX-35 thunders overhead
Streaking to engage the tyrants.

What freedom does my neighbor hear?
Does he ride the range. securing our borders?
If so, I’m grateful.

Coffee With Alex

After asking our permission,
Alex joins us for coffee.
Chubby, with bright eyes,
He speaks of the American dream.

Alex and Irene own Kafka’s coffee shop
At the edge of “Old Town”.
I suspect that Irene does the work
And Alex does the schmoozing.

Born and raised in the Philippines,
They have six children,
All born in America, all working.
Four are teachers.

Business, at the coffee shop, has been slow
These last two years,
But the couple continue to send money
To maintain his elderly mother.

With all the children out of the house
These past five years,
They have opened their home to
Students from other countries.

It might have been the bright sunlight,
Partially shaded by blooming Maple trees,
Or the easy humor marking our conversation;
But I found myself believing Alex to be real.

There were no dark corners as we spoke.
I have been to Disneyland
And witnessed a child speaking to a six foot mouse.
I wish to hold onto small miracles.