My office, as editor of the Infantry Bugler, sits on the second floor of the new state-of-the-art National Infantry Museuem. A parade field behind the museum, sewn with the soil of historic American battlefields from all over the world, is the site of weekly graduation ceremonies for basic trainees.
Platoons of soldiers often gather on the sidewalk in front of the "Follow Me" Statue. From my window I can see them, at ease with their choices, at least on the surface, marching double file back to a barrack or a home where, hopefully, there is love. I grew up in this town full of soldiers, home of the Infantry, and now, the Armor. Young men in their dress blue uniforms walking the highway to the mall is a common sight. It's common for a stranger to pay for a soldier's meal. Common to place a hand on a uniformed sleeve and say thank you. Common to whisper, "God keep you safe, Soldier."
If you know a soldier, say thank you today.
For Poetry Friday on the Veteran's Day, I hope you enjoy "Chats with Eleanor." There lots more poetry to be found at Teaching Authors.
CHATS WITH ELEANOR
by Pris Campbell
Fairy Godmothers with ample laps
and June Cleaver faces slid down the rabbit hole
of old dial-up phones, ten cent colas, Betsy Wetsys,
and scratchy LPs an innocent lifetime ago.
Try strutting about nowdays in tiara and starched skirt,
waving a wand---the madhouse will open its jaws
and swallow you whole, but
my fairy godmother is clever.
She dresses like Eleanor Roosevelt,
talks like Eleanor, looks like Eleanor,
says she is Eleanor, back from the dead.
Each night she brings me hot chocolate, sits,
tell stories about quiet fireside chats,
her husband’s withered legs and how much
she thought he loved her before Lucy.
She reminds me to floss every night
and to be sure to carry an umbrella
should sudden thunderstorms threaten.
She emphasizes that one must learn to