1958
Sep 17th, 2009 | By Martin C. Rosner, M.D. | Category: Poetry | 531 viewsSometimes the image in the mirror
Blurs, and morphs into a younger
Man, wearing a blue uniform
With silver railroad tracks
Upon each sturdy shoulder.
Who was that man, thunderbolt,
Lightening rod, proud defender
Of the great republic, unique
In deed and concept,
Overarching the grateful world?
He was an antique sculpture,
Like the Greek and Roman
Relics in museums, unrelated
To a nation and a world
That snickers at the epics
And rewrites the stories
Of a disappearing time
So that nobility is subtracted
Except on those official days
Of hypocritical observance
Which everyone can easily
Endure, and then return
To listening to their I-Pods
And reading solemn disavowals
Of the history he made.
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