Hero

Holding the trash can for stability,

he hung his head.

Wanted to cry,

but wouldn't.

Flew successful missions over 

England in 44. Now he 

couldn't stand long enough

to mow. How long since he

could? Didn't know.

His friend mowed the grass

for him, the smell so

pungent it was almost a taste.

He'd finish in the dark

load the mower in his truck

take off with a handshake

and a smile.

He was the hero now. Easing

himself to the brick planter

to sit, he smiled.