In the Veterans’ Home

by Lucia Owen

This Memorial Day
it is sweet and fitting that schoolchildren
paint their palms red, white and blue,
stamp their hands on white construction paper,
pencil in block letters on the back
their innocent thanks to the ones who returned,
and prop their tributes
against the napkin holders
on each table in the dining room.

The man in the motorized wheelchair
packing an oxygen tank
maneuvers himself so he can reach one.
He turns the paper over and over again
and replaces it, words up.

He pivots his chair away.
His cheek spasms and his eyes
ask questions too big for schoolchildren
and accuse the room.

He has never heard of the young, brilliant,
man-slaying Achilles who chose not to come home
in exchange for fame.

He never knew there was such a choice
when he went away and now in this home
of no choice he lives alone in
wrath.