Broken Soldier

The people at the terminal, patted him on the back and cheered. They said welcome back home soldier, and then they quickly disappeared. They pushed and shoved their way past him, while he tried to get on the train. They turned and looked the other way, as he sat outside in the rain. He had a girl he left back home, before he was shipped out to war. But now that he’s just half a man, how could she love him anymore. When singing the songs of freedom, someone must pay the fiddle man. But was the price too high for what, he had left in Afghanistan. He was just another soldier, on a train going to somewhere. Was trying to tell his story, to some people that did not care. His pant legs pinned above his knees, bottle of whisky in his hand. He’s just one more broken soldier, coming home from a foreign land. Look the other way if you can, you don’t want to show him pity. For this poor ole half of a man, lost and alone in this city. People pretend to be sleeping, but when they think he cannot see. They whisper in each other’s ear, I’m so glad it’s him and not me.