Pictures At Five (For D. K.) Poem by Bill Cushing

Kneeling on the floor,
thumbing through the albums
around me, I see
the pictures:
at five, on Santa’s knee;
your first sailor’s knot
in Cub Scouts;
tuxedoed for a prom. Then
you joined a different promenade,
one of brown and tattoos.
Now you bunk with
eight others in Riad.
Yesterday was Christmas Eve;
you called your mother and
me.

That’s when I heard
of the insurgent
who came at you, pistol bared,
shooting, and you,
with your M16
“not readily available, ”
grabbed your knife to spare
your life. These are
not the times
I wanted for my son,
so I went back to these old shots
and remembered those days
to avoid the images I now endure
until, God willing,
May.