We name Little League parks

after those who didn't make it

home alive, or indeed, at all.

We dedicate street-corners

to those for whom the honour

is a fitting (albeit muted) gesture.

A few take notice, pay respect:

relatives and friends, the VFW.

Every time I walk past your plaque,

Lieutenant, I stop and bow

and say a silent prayer for you,

killed in action, South Vietnam,

age twenty-eight, less than a week

before Christmas, in 1970.