Waiting at the Back Door

Here I twiddle my thumbs
in this vertical hibernation.
I hark back to military days,
to the regimented regime
of, "Hurry up and wait.”
I am at war in Vietnam;
battleship gray door
a barrier
a steel soldier
a rectangular sentry
taxing my patience--
I’m no saint
but I’m almost asleep,
like grizzly bears
in winter’s den awaiting
dreams.
Ah, dreams so welcomed,
so essential so intrinsically
pure, those needful
things like love yet
they, also, must abide with
the patience of shirt pins
at the threshold of their
own private door.


24 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
1-10-16