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.