Jessica Ramer
On a Son Deploying to Korea
Daniel, my son, son,
God knew what he was doing
when he gave children to the young.
Not quite old when you were born,
I was a fat, graying father
mired in memories of the Marne,
hiding behind my closed study door
to escape the sight of you,
your eyes magnified behind thick glasses,
pouring over anthills, termite nests,
“Plays well with others” marked N—
needs improvement—every quarter.
You tried. I know. I winced
whenever I looked out the window:
playing army, you marched out of step;
at bat, you struck out yet again,
head dangling like a hanged man’s,
waiting for teammates to stop yelling.
Grief flogged me into old age
when Emmett returned from Anzio,
leg, eye, and several fingers gone.
I spewed an aged man’s bile,
wished it had been you instead.
Daniel, my son, my son,
forgive an old man’s ire.
Jessica Ramer is a doctoral student in poetry at the University of Southern Mississippi. Her work has appeared in South 85 and The Keats Letters Project. She was a summer 2017 resident at the Alderworks Alaska Writers & Artists Retreat.
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