Dixie Cup Memorial

Dixie Cup Memorial by Odin Roark How small it is this bottom of the Dixie cup looking skyward holding high the torch the unemployment check of another kind Held aloft with no regrets Half full Half empty All the same Someone had to shoulder the orders Now in desert camo-dress his prosthetic hand holds forth watching fingers pass over some manicured with pennies some scabbed and scarred with singles even children's innocent fingers dropping their nickels and dimes Many have acknowledged this His back-home identity His calling card His shingle His name plate The mind huddles close now few copper and silver no blankets of green no ingots of gold A note floats downward swathing reality Thank you for your service Would you like a job? What are your skills? Can you relocate? Sure he says his eyes lingering upon his severed legs each knee projecting its solitary reality Purple Heart pinned securely to the right Just let me gather today's windfall 2 pennies 1 nickel 3 quarters 1 subway token Relocating again Travel Enough to get me there Pocketing the Dixie cup his hook and knuckles pull forward surging his mover's dolly transporting Faith's hidden hope Ahead looking back his benefactor strides onward his missing arm yet another lost appendage of honor his smile a projection of comaradery his Ooh-rah a respect never ignored Not far he says Not far