Today's poem is by George Franklin

During the War
       

War Comes to the Village

A truck filled with soldiers parked in front of the church. Another truck, an empty one, pulled up behind it.
Even though the village was hard to reach, everyone had already heard about the war. The president and the senate, angry at a threat made by a neighbor to the north, had declared war and mobilized the reserves.
However, the country had no reserves, so the senate passed a law declaring all males between the ages of 14 and 67 to be reservists in the nation's army.
While a surprising number of villagers were herding sheep and cows in the mountains that day, the soldiers did manage to find several reservists, including the saint of unbelievers.
When a certain captain grabbed him by the shoulder, the saint's protest took the form of invective accusing the captain's mother of improprieties with bus drivers and mailmen.
Despite the mayor's intervention, the saint, unconscious from a beating, was carried to the truck waiting with its engine still running.
The driver was unsure it would start again if he switched it off.

The Conscript

Some men are not intended to be soldiers.
When the saint woke up, he was freezing from a bucket of water poured on his head and aching from the bruises the captain's boots had left on his ribs.
Someone handed him a uniform that was far too large for him, but at least it was dry.
Later, he noticed a small hole almost in line with the buttons of the jacket and another just below the shoulders.
The saint was not issued a rifle, but that had nothing to do with his personality or any suspicion that he would not make good use of it.
The army had run out of rifles three days earlier and knives a day after that.
But, a clever officer, who before the war managed a bicycle factory, had the solution: reservists without weapons would storm the enemy lines barehanded, an act of courage sure to strike terror into the opposing ranks.
Any reservist who retreated or failed to attack would be shot by troops coming up behind him.
The officer regarded his plan as perfect strategy.
The saint regarded it as marginally preferable to being poisoned by the sour-smelling soup that caused cramps and a sudden rush to the latrines.
Before dawn, the order came to attack, the reservists moved forward, and the saint stumbled on the road along with the rest.
Like most of the others, he had no intention of killing anyone. He already understood that the war was a kind of insanity, and he should get away as soon as he could.

The Hero

At the first sound of rifle fire and mortar rounds, an officer ordered the troops into some woods.
They waited, unsure of where the enemy was or where they were.
Once, a deer broke cover. In the dark, it sounded like a horse or men running.
Luckily, no one had weapons, or they would have shot each other in panic.
The saint moved his back against a large tree and slid down to rest. When he woke up, it was already morning.
His platoon was gone, and although he could smell gunpowder and smoke, no one was firing.
The saint considered that this might be a good time to begin his walk back to the mountains and began retracing his steps.
There was a small stream by the road that he didn't remember. Now, it was filled with bodies in
Uniform, and the water rose over and around their cold faces and arms.
The saint recognized some, and some had different colored jackets. There was nothing to be done, and he walked past them.
He heard the sound of brakes behind him, and an officer shouted, "Identify yourself."
The saint replied that he was not among the dead.
At headquarters, several officers asked him questions at once, so that he found it difficult to answer any of them.
Finally, a sergeant explained that the saint was the only survivor of the attack and that no one knew what had happened.
A tall man with gold braid and stars approached him.
The sergeant pushed the saint to stand up, and the officer informed him he was now a hero of the republic and pinned a silver medal on his chest.
The saint carefully unpinned the medal and examined it. Then, he threw it on the muddy floor and walked outside.
Strangely, no one tried to stop him.

Copyright © 2024 George Franklin All rights reserved
from What the Angel Saw, What the Saint Refused
Sheila-Na-Gig Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission