130. 1942


Close enough to feel

the fresh turned gravel

through my thin-soled shoes.

No fake grass to obscure

the reality of that bare hole.

Rifles popped and echoed.

A far away bugle gave us

the saddest of all Amens,

which chilled and chilled.

My father shuddered

and pulled me close.

Embarrassed and ashamed for him,

I watched tear drops leave his eyes

to fall on that ground

which was only beginning to show

its insatiable hunger

for the young men of our town.

— Max Yoho

These poems are by Topekan Max Yoho, a native Kansan, retired machinist, and Kansas author. All were originally published in Felicia, These Fish Are Delicious, Dancing Goat Press, © 2004 by Max Yoho


One thought on “130. 1942

  1. I enjoyed hearing the author read this thought-provoking poem on two occasions recently. It has much to say to all of us.

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