In Retrospect

In Retrospect

When he returned
The air popped and crackled,
The day he returned.
Abandoned in a crevasse
Between sidewalk cracks
He listened to the Others
Above, whose footfalls were
Wearied but not yet burdened by
Molten nightfall
Adrenaline, glorified
And death, amidst chaos
That will not heed
The silence of the fallen,
The day he returned.
Victory, a hollow tune
Of loss fleshed out in
Politicians’ smooth acidity,
Quagmire, the
Provocative fodder of
Media pundits;
Neither of these could perceive
The candid insanity of
War.
Only
Something else,
Found where
Absolution does not belie:
Death.
Its traces did not
Linger in his mind, no;
They ate, gulped,
Hungry as the chaos had been
To feast on another war zone,
A place of no triumph.
Until reality, the reality
Of detachment, was gone,
Until it disappeared;
And he knew,
Beneath the gunfire
Of twisted nerves,
Here he would remain
In this sidewalk,
A concrete home,
The hard cold slabs closest to home;
Home, a place of no return.

by Ty Kipling