My Green Socks


In the gym just the other day this young fellow scoffed and said:
“Your socks don’t match your other clothes, the green doesn’t match the red.”
I smiled: “I could enlighten you, but you look like one of those,
More natural being ignorant, so to you I won’t disclose.”

But if you, my reader, do not care how others may be dressed,
Please stay with me for a little bit, and I’ll tell you the rest.
Things are rarely as they appear; do not judge by what you see,
There’s a reason why the color green is very dear to me.

Every morning when I arise an option does not bemoan,
Because green socks are my only choice, green socks are all I own.
And while I’m donning that olive-drab, when all my thoughts are clear,
A phantasm transfixes me, at once pensive and austere.

The green is for the U.S. Soldier and sacrifices made,
Through the enfilades of bullets and withering cannonade.
Through weather extremes and pestilence they did not care to yield,
No matter what the challenges faced on the battlefield.

Before we were a country an inherent gallantry,
Engendered Rev War soldiers and our home-grown infantry.
And the conscript and the volunteer fought all the wars throughout,
To the covert acts that still go on that you don’t know about.

The politicians and bureaucrats who send our soldiers on,
Right or wrong, to bear the brunt, their sacrificial pawn.
While we at home “support our troops” and celebrate the brave,
But it’s that hapless soldier boy who ends up in the grave.

Or worse, perhaps, the Veteran, and burdens that they carry,
Away from home and family, the comrades that they bury.
The pain and sorrow and loneliness, the drugs and suicide,
Include these in the battle count, how many here have died?

Memorial Day is every day when I get up to dress,
And to ease my conscience Veterans groups get all of my largesse.
So to that fool in the locker room whom green socks don’t agree,
They match my heart and soul, my friend, and that’s close enough for me.

© 2015 by D.H. Hanes

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