The Other Boy

The beautiful valley lay below, seabag strapped

to my shoulder, I made my way down the steep

hill for a rendezvous with my past which may have

passed on while I was away, away in the war,

away on the infinite Pacific Ocean away on Kwajalein

 Island where I inadvertently came upon the skeleton

of a Japanese boy who had been doing for his country

what I was doing for mine, except he died and I survived.

The dominant dread of killing some mother’s promising

son was passing as my flight home from Guam gave me

time to reconcile living with memories and the irrepressible

Hope that the world had learned to avoid another war.