For My Little Buddy

Here's another poem I stole from my sister. My little buddy over at Pass the Brass is preparing to leave for his first tour (Tour? Does that make him a tourist?) of Iraq and has a somber post about his feelings on saying good-bye. It made me think of this poem my sister wrote when her son left for Iraq. It's hokey and I know guys hate poetry, but it's a mothers view of those dreaded good-byes. Anyway...this is for you, SureFire.

LEAVING COLEMAN BARRACKS FOR KUWAIT

In the airport we finally said good-bye
after avoiding the word all week,
watching camo flatbeds load and leave,
the PX packed with soldiers buying supplies.

After avoiding the word all week,
I heard a stranger in a crowd and turned to see
you waving other soldiers on their way
as we stood in the crowded airport.

I heard a stranger in a crowd and turned to see
the child inside the man you'd grown to be,
as we stood in a crowded airport
and tried to think of something else to say.

The child inside the man you'd grown to be
fumbled for something to do with his hands
as we tried to think of something else to say
before we bore the weight of this good-bye.

Fumbling for something to do with your hands,
drumming a rhythm on the escalator handrail
before we bore the weight of this good-bye,
I noticed your nails chewed down to the quick.

Drumming a rhythm on the escalator handrail,
I recognized the tune that you were humming,
noticed your nails chewed down to the quick
and the lullaby I sang so many years ago.

I recognized the tune that you were humming
and softly sang the words we knew by heart,
of the lullaby I sang so many years ago,
in the airport when we finally said good-bye.