Card Sharp
by: Billy Collins
He said
he was born,
raised,
and re-raised
somewhere in Nevada.
Collins can make me laugh. His short poems, in particular, fill me with admiration for his wit and wordplay. He's refreshingly honest in going for the punchline. He just doesn't give a shit about not being taken seriously.
Tonight, I'm not going to try to be witty or funny in what I write. Perhaps I'm going to sound sentimental or maudlin, and I, like Collins, just don't give a shit.
It is Memorial Day in the United States--a day set aside to honor our fallen soldiers. A lot of U. S. citizens treat this day as simply a reason to head out to camp and have a barbecue. I don't do that. My father, who was a Private Second Class during the Korean War, taught me to honor and respect the true meaning of this holiday.
I taught my kids the same, taking them both to Memorial Day services at our local cemetery since before they really comprehended what it was all about. Now, they stand at parades when the flag goes by. When taps is played, they remove hats, put their hands over their hearts.
All the freedoms I take for granted every day were paid for in blood by courageous individuals who sacrificed everything to make the world a better place. I never forget that.
Saint Marty will always be eternally grateful.
Memorial Day Cemetery
by: Martin Achatz
The small flags
on the graves
snap with wind,
sound like distant
gunfire of battles
fought over 80 years ago.
Simply. Moving.
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