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Poetry of 2006 by Donna Flood
Arnold


Arnold’s of old west Stetson
Tall and slim in dress jeans
Ironed with a crease
Flared a bit to fit over boots
Of high heels that threw
His shoulders back.
I saw him pick off a
Water Mocassin as it
Swam toward us in haste.
The rifle swung up
In an easy motion
And “crack” that snake
Was no more.
I watched him feed
Pet Bass with a ‘hopper
Big mouths flopped
Shut with a plop,
There in the clear, cold,
Waters of Kansas trap.
They had their John Wayne
I, my brother Arnold, not of fame,
But no greater memory of love and lore
Never since nor, never more.
He always remembered the boys
Who died on far away shores,
Their last breaths as they called “Mama.”
He only shook his head as he saw
Them once again so real before him
And wondered about war and win.
Come stand beside me once again
Your arms so strong and secure
With a brother’s love so pure.
With you there I had not fear,
With only a stance so clear,
Nothing could harm me,
A way out I could see.


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