1942

Standing.
Close enough to feel
the fresh turned gravel
through my thin-soled shoes.
No fake grass to obscure
the reality of that bare hole.

Rifles popped and echoed.
A far away bugle gave us
the saddest of all Amens,
which chilled and chilled.

My father shuddered
and pulled me close.

Embarrassed and ashamed for him,
I watched tear drops leave his eyes
to fall on that ground
which was only beginning to show
its insatiable hunger
for the young men of our town.

^__Max Yoho.