Killing Time

My father once sat waiting, to live or die at roadside. Kill or be killed! Enemy or friend, he shot first. And in so doing, he lived in flesh but, died in spirit. My father once sat waiting, on a war tank at roadside. Kill or be killed! Enemy or friend, he warmed himself. Lounging on the tank, listening, hearing, of, final sounds inside. Tick, tick, TICK, my father jumped off. His turn at warming! Tank as body heater, sliding off to explore. The clockwork sound, explodes in thunder and, his men are dead. My father sits waiting, to live or die at home. Time to be killed! Growing older quickly, catching up with ticks. Finding his lost men, collecting them now since, only he won. My father sits waiting, as once a boy, to live. A boy with men in war! Innocence, forever lost, robbed of all but waiting. Evening the score, his clay and dust to blend, to settle. My father a seedling, taking hold of earth. Forming a dandelion! Budding him in yellow, blowing feathered wishes. For anything he killed, enemy or friend finally, he’ll sit waiting. By Edlynn Nau (Tribute to my father while he is still living, so he knows that I knew, how hard each breath was after Korea, as one of the living dead) © January 13, 2020