My Old Man Poem by Josh Bashline

His saggy eye lids and rough,
weathered skin,
remind me of a rainy day.
Dark blue eyes as cold as the Atlantic chill me to the bone.
The brown spots and dead skin patches on his bald head,
are like battle wounds,
which he has received over the years.

His unsteady hand shyly grasps his sable cane.
His three lonesome limbs longing for their missing brother,
taken from them many years ago on a beach in France.

Blinding gold medals and silver stars,
overshadow the Purple Heart,
but do not hide it.
His navy blue suit with yellow lining and a flag on his shoulder,
immediately grabs my attention,
and drags me across the sandy memorial.

Quietly standing on a ledge,
overlooking the old battlefield,
gloomy tears gently rolling down his face,
as he re-lives that horrible day.