Veteran’s Reward
I have served my country
well,
Faced the enemies’ wrath
took their bullets,
risked the devastation
of roadside devices,
Now I am discarded
Wrong out
like an old dish rag.
Back home I am on duty
beneath the over pass,
my weapon, a sign
printed boldly on the torn side
of my sleeping box,
states,
“Veteran needs your coins for food.”
I am greeted with sneers
disbelief.
Some coins roughly thrown
from passing cars,
the rare dollar gratefully received.
Sometimes I can buy a burger.
My shelter is the underspass,
in the rafters with the pigeons
where my presence will not scare pedestrians,
draw the police attention.
In my shelter I sleep, lulled
by the throbbing rhythm,
vibration
of the traffic pulsing above.
Here I find comfort in the best
Of my country.
- Amelia Blossom Pegram
