His armor is silver, his ’chute is khaki,
A grenade on his belt, and a shield on his arm;
And she thinks of the kiss by the loom and TV
And his camouflaged, war-painted lost face’s charm.
He went off with his pals in the longship and jeep,
As brave as his rockets in the boat prow.
And disease, gas and tomahawk put him to sleep….
What is his mouth, to laugh or kiss now?
‘Warrior’ was first published in Ryerson Free Press in Toronto.
It’s nice that anti-war poems don’t feel as relevant in early 2020, with another of the Four Horsemen making all the running at the moment. It’s some compensation, anyway.
Form in Formless Times 