Portside aims to provide varied material of interest to people on the left that will help them to interpret the world, and to change it.
By Bill Glose
When we rolled into Iraq,
newspapers predicted more
than half of us would die.
Eyes masked by tinted goggles,
we assumed stoic expressions
or else joked and slugged shoulders
embroidered with AIRBORNE tabs,
that narrow strip proclaiming
our shared religion. I remember
certitude settling into my bones
that I would not come back whole,
accepting that sour fact the same way
a losing wrestler shakes
his opponent’s hand before
the ref raises it in victory.
Looking back on my younger self,
so full of bravado
and jingoistic pride, I ponder
the multiverse theory of existence.
On another plane, perhaps the predictions
were correct, my corpse rolled
into an unmarked grave then covered
by a dune’s shifting sand. Then, too,
there would be another world
with another version of myself that
never went to war, never bargained
with God to swing his hammer
on someone else, never unleashed
the black dog within his heart
and set its gnashing teeth to work.
Bill Glose is a former paratrooper and author of three poetry collections, including Half a Man, whose poems arise from his experiences as a combat platoon leader. His poems have appeared in numerous journals, including The Missouri Review, Narrative Magazine, Poet Lore, and Atlanta Review. In 2011, he was named the Daily Press Poet Laureate. Other honors include the F. Scott Fitzgerald Short Story Award and the Missouri Humanities Council Award for Veteran's Poetry. More information is available on his website: www.BillGlose.com.