Smoke curls off his cigarette,
smells of promise he doesn't feel.
Factory closed 5 months ago.
His family needs a provider still.
Walking to the next place to job search,
Vietnam surfaces his mind as desperation
lingers over him, he's denied another job.
Stares at the bank across the street,
the one that turned him away.
Fingers slide to his waistband, tapping his gun.
Strolls in the lobby, 1965 and rain fogs logic.
Knows that burning sensation, won't make it
home this time, gasping for the last breath,
whispers, "My family, tell Sara I'm sorry,
my country failed me again."
@ donetta sifford 3-15-2013