Joy To Be Home

There is nothing more sad than our joy to be home

"And there's no light to see the voices by;
There is no time to ask - he knows not what."

Wilfred Owen

She held her hand our for me,
a dream I did not want to end,
her path and mine refused to cross
before the great call to arms,

I, deep within myself,
knew that it
was highly unfair for her
to marry a man
burnt as badly
I was,
for no matter how
many decoration and ribbons
placed upon my chest,
the flesh left over
from a blast
in the direction
of my hurling body,

I saved three white boys
from dying,
yet, when I came
to Magnolia Sweets,
I could not watch the movie shows
downstairs
with the white man,
I was directed by guards
to the balcony,

when I took a job mopping floors
at that Richmond hospital,
they complained
that my looks
scared off the patients
and their families,

so I was switched to the midnight shift,
quiet,
I saw her,
my first love,
holding the hands
of one of those men
I'd saved,

incidentally,
as a matter of fact,


neither recognized me
underneath a new face
the VA had given me,
passing right in front of me,
there was nothing more
I could offer either
of them,

changing my mop water,
I punched out for the night,
walking into the cold Richmond air,
heading home,
riding the bus,
at the back,
I stood
letting the white ladies
have my seat,

there are no thank you's
for those of us
cursed with
this hideous dress,
our only salvation
perhaps,
is to realize,
that even a point blank wound
does not change the color
of a man's
skin,
enough to be treated
like a warrior
in need
of a woman
who loves him
in spite
of himself.


Copyright, William "Wild Bill" Taylor, June, 2003