The Moving Wall

The Moving Wall

I lost a high school friend to the war in Vietnam and wrote this poem for him after seeing his name on The Moving Wall Memorial.

THE MOVING WALL

We visit The Wall  the one they

pull apart  cart around  and lay

to rest for seven days  in far

off sections of a country that

arms boys and hauls them off to

war.  The women who sit in the tent   

with furious July sun blazing on their

kindness  give us a print out with your

name  Meade, Thomas Allerton  uniformly

typed  below the bold faced  Etched In Stone   

that embodies the exhibit. My eyes cruise the page   

the way your ’63 Chevy sought out chicks  and my

knees begin to buckle  when I capture the words 

HOSTILE, DIED  ARTILLERY, ROCKET, MORTAR.   

A deluge of images from nightly news explode before

me  and I finally discharge your death  and that god

forsaken war  as a rocket fire of tears flash over my face   

while I whimper across the green  toward The Wall.

And there you are  Thomas A. Meade   

standing guard on line 62  panel 37 E. 

Sitting on a bench   I snatch up tissues

from a box that sidles beside me 

as the WELCOME HOME

VIETNAM VETERANS

banner  flaps

in a bitter breeze. 

(c) Carol Weis

Tommy Meade

His yearbook photo.

Tommy Meade Etching from Vietnam Memorial

I took the rubbing from the Vietnam Memorial in DC.

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About Carol Weis

Carol Weis is a freelance writer of poetry, essays, memoir, and children's books.

Posted on May 25, 2015, in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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