the squadron commander

when he sat still
he was as unintimidating
as a marionette:
long arms and legs,
a length of nose
that looked
like a caricature,
black eyes still.

but when he began to move,
his hands pointing
or on his hips;

but more importantly
when he began to speak

his physical appearance
melted away
in the blur of his booming voice.

you saw how his subordinates,
officers and sergeants alike
reacted
to his Machiavellian philosophy
that it was better
to be feared than loved.

it was years before I realized
that he had been passed over
for promotion.
he was gone as was I,
as was everyone -
the natural flow of the Army -
the unit stays, the men move on.

when he smiled
and said a kind word,
it meant something.
young men put these smiles
in their wallets
and brought them out
over beer like pictures
of girlfriends back home.

Rosemary

At sunset on my porch,
I pinch a twig of rosemary
between my thumb and forefinger
and smell the swelling sweetness
of its aroma
even before I lift it to my nose.

It brings me back to

years ago
out on the Dona Ana range
sitting in my HUMWV.
The desert burned with the heat
of engines and summer.
The setting sun called forth the colors
of the mountains that lay hidden
during the ordinary hours.
The rosemary grew wild in bushes.
Abrams tanks roared and clattered past
indisriminately grinding sprigs into the sand.
As they went down,
they blessed the dry air with flavor,
cancelling some of the sickly smell
of burning jet fuel.

And many years later,
the sun just above the horizon,
next to the barbecue
was a pot with a healthy plant
growing, cared for.
I, fingering a few leaves
like today, listened
as an old Army buddy
recited a litany of trials and gratitudes
of a year of surgery
and chemotherapy for his son.
"It was hard," he understated.

"Smell this," I said.
"Do you remember Dona Ana?"

In Front of the Storm

the air is full of contradictions:
pregnant with heat,
penetrated by a cool breeze;
darkening brightness, despite
the bruised clouds
and patches of sun.

the other cafe customers
at the sidewalk tables
avoid commenting
on the coming tumult.
we deny the inevitable
by resolutely sipping
and chewing,

but our feet are not tangled
in the chairs' legs
as they might have been.