Draft Notice
3 May 1966
Late afternoon.
Friday.
Sacramento simmers
in hundred degree heat.
Mom greets me,
grim news in her voice,
a sorrow I'd heard
a couple months before
at my father's funeral:
the somber sadness from which
she'd never recovered.
For those fleeting
mercurial moments
between life and beyond
I'd held dad in my arms.
Heard his death rattle.
Became the man of the house,
rode in an ambulance,
called a Catholic priest,
dealt with the nightmare.
I see the envelope lying
on the hallway table
shrouded in a winding
sheet
bearing my name.
I hear the faint sound
of war drums beating,
imagine my mother sobbing
beside her son's
coffin.
The fire and smoke of my life
rise higher and higher.
My fate, a booby trap, detonates,
destroys what's left of my fragile world.
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