when the boys came home

when the neighborhood

boys came back from

the war.

they

were different.

shorn of hair,

thin

but muscled, a look

of joy

and forlorn

on their aged faces.

relieved

to be home again but

still in creased

uniforms.

before

they left

we sat on the porch

and talked

about girls

and sports, we flew

kites

in green fields,

and drank

beer on the bleachers

behind the school.

now they say little,

staring off into a place

you can't see,

or want to.