On Leave - 1968

by Sergio Ortiz



We waited for the sun
to walk away the shadows.
I sat on his lap, wrinkled
the khaki fresh out of Vietnam.
The kisses had me thinking
it could be more than a night
in the bleachers. But then again,
I don't go to funerals,
or let boys tie me to motel beds
as if they were drill sergeants
training troops to forget the gore.