Battles

Grandpa watches his grandson

swing from the thick grapevine

Hanging from the old oak.

The boy jumps off the hill

a hundred feet high, taut

muscles support his body

brave like the warrior his grandfather

was. His grandson gets down;

Grandpa in turn, reaches for the vine.

He knows he shouldn't fly:

his body will betray him.

His eyes proclaim

the war within, as real as the one

he fought in Germany and Japan.

Honor, truth, glory to be defended.

Unlike on those far shores, Grandpa hesitates,

strokes the coarse vine once more

--with hands scarred, abused and tender--

a last time, like a lover.

Lines around his eyes

belie the soldier’s youth,

alive in his mind,

torn from his body

after seventy years of conflicts.

His weapons lowered,

Grandpa walks away.

Grandpa sits on the basement steps and cheers

as his daughter and grandson play table tennis.

His loved ones cajole him to play:

Show us how good you are.

Hiding a smile, after all his disclaimers,

he plays to win.

He battles against time; his opponents are youth

-- today, at least,

he wins.

(C) Tori Whitacre Wilfred