TheBanyanTree: NOT THIS WAR

[Sharon Mack]

NOT THIS WAR

 

Not this war, my brother said.

 

Not this war, as he packed his bags

 

With a ticket in his hand

 

To go to Canada

 

On the train.

 

 

Looking as though his son had died,

 

I watched my father turn away

 

And wipe the tears from his eyes.

 

 

I knew he was remembering another time.

 

Remembering another war.

 

He, too, had held a ticket in his hand

 

To go to camp

 

On the train.

 

 

Looking as though his son had died,

 

His father, too, 

 

Had turned away and wiped his eyes,

 

And said to his son, please,

 

Not this war,

 

Not this war.

 

 

For he was remembering another time

 

Remembering another war

 

He, too, had held a ticket in his hand

 

To go to camp

 

On the train.

 

 

To fight the final war of wars.

 

The great one war.

 

The great world war.

 

The first and last

 

They'd said.

 

 

And now I see my son pack up.

 

I say to him, 

 

Not this war, my son

 

Not this war.

 

 

He holds the ticket in his hand

 

And bravely walks the path and waves,

 

And smiles his smile,

 

Goes bravely to his plane.

 

 

I ask myself,

 

Will it ever end?

 

I watch with shaded eyes,

 

I feel as though my heart has died.

 

And as the plane lifts off the tarp

 

I turn away and wipe the tears

 

that lay coldly on my cheeks.