In The Red Cross Parking Lot After a Meeting on PTSD
by Pamela Hart
What about your son, Nancy
Flanagan wonders, but really
she wants to talk about her son
Tom, in Afghanistan
who never got with the program
six-two, on the swim team
until he was kicked out of high
school, has trouble with rules
which is how she explains
his wild streak, there’s his hat
on the dashboard
Tom, she insists
won’t make a career of this
her hand brushes the dark
as spotlights halo the white-domed
rescue vehicles around us
next door someone shouts
further off traffic glowers
along the expressway. Nancy
makes care packages, the good
socks, how to get them on the cheap
the rifle bolt she bought him
it’s expensive, doesn’t jam or clog
Tom’s sergeant killed, will Tom get
with the program, the words
rocketing on and on in the night
We are like the Spartan women
how we send them off, the shields
we compare and polish
in the concrete firmament
Pamela Hart is a poet and former journalist whose chapbook, The End of the Body, was published by Toadlilly Press in 2006. Her son is an Army Ranger with the 10th Mountain Division. She is writer in residence at the Katonah Museum of Art, in Katonah NY, where she runs an arts in education program.