My Brother Was Deployed
For the last fifteen years
I’ve ran a trail every week
in his name, but lately
it’s just been to lose weight.
I’ve been an alcoholic
ever since I got the visit;
the bad feeling first came
after the daily tally
of casualties on CNN,
and I’d just signed up
for an anti-war march
which didn’t mean
I wasn’t anti-war to begin with,
just that it hadn’t culminated
into movement; it takes
a-lot of hope for that.
I know it’s been a while
since anyone has talked
about the Iraq War,
and especially the soldiers
killed there, if not by explosion,
then their own bullet,
but I think about my brother
every day, especially when
Generation Z proclaims
Bin Laden’s manifesto
makes good points,
then says our troops
deserved it.
I’ve vomited at the many troves
of footage, and have retained
my stance despite millions
becoming hawks,
have put my neck out there
to be executed by good ole boys
and armed patriots, still…
I thank them for their service,
and that includes my brother,
even though there’s nothing
under his tombstone;
he’s spread across Iraq
being mocked by the future
of this country.
Someone else has been given
his number. They complain
about receiving calls
from an old man
from an old woman
from a little brother.
I once recall them saying
he must have been
a pretty good guy.
Brandon Shane is a poet and horticulturist, born in Yokosuka, Japan. You can see his work in trampset, Argyle Literary Magazine, Berlin Literary Review, Acropolis Journal, Grim & Gilded, Ink in Thirds, Prairie Home Mag, The Marbled Sigh, among many others. He would graduate from Cal State Long Beach with a degree in English. Find him on Twitter @Ruishanewrites
The Marbled Sigh 