The Vet’s

Standing at the window, the old man looked out at the rain. His thoughts, echoed the weather, dark and turbulent.

On the couch lay his old uniform, pressed and ready.

“Every year it’s the same thing” he thought, “ Get all sweaty marching in that damn parade, for what?”

The lightning came, close, raddling. Transporting him back.

Chaos ruled, brass empties were deep at his feet, they were struggling.

Then came the RPG, heading right for them. He froze, but not McVay, he felt the push, then the explosion.

Unconsciously rubbing his artificial leg, he knew he would March.