PRESSED INTO SERVICE
by Susan Budig
He sits half-cocked by his mother's armoire
as she bustles to iron his pants.
His knobby knees betray his heart—
they shake when he sits, so by heart
he recites the Rifleman's Creed, leaning against the armoire
then snaps the shank as he pulls on his pressed pants.
He kisses his mother, with husky breath, he pants
"Thanks, Ma." On his chest, over crisp uniform, she traces a heart
then shudders as he exits, her back braced against the armoire.
Now the armoire's dense with dust where his creased pants hang as today she holds
his purple heart.
The Warrior Heart November 2014 - 24