Vets

the street vets tend

to share a certain

silhouette.

whiskery as a terrier

black watch caps

camo patterned coats.

clothes and kit

stuffed in bags 

that sit neatly

in a row against the fence

around the newest high rise

erupting south of market.

some never speak a word

and others never stop

and i've never heard

from any of my old pals

with whom i shared many

a bowl of afghan black,

if they ever made it back

to galveston or ok city.

except for jim who

stayed in and climbed

from pfc to colonel.

last year i got a message

from his wife that his heart

had given out in tel aviv

so we'll not be sitting

beside the donau river

sipping our old favorite brew,

the one named for the sun.