Faye Sizemore


The miles that he has traveled
has worn holes
in many pairs of boots
Always his tires are bare
travelin’ from here to there
He seems to be always
comin’ or leavin’
… along the way
laughin’ and grievin’
The journey is his master
in the miles of his disaster…
trying to leave the ghosts behind
and the cries… the cries
that echo in his mind
He thought he had left them
… many… many a time
but risin’ up behind him…
like verses in dust and rhyme
on a country back road…
they call to him almost…
almost forty years lost
and remind him
this is part of the cost
They rise up in the dust
of the roads he left behind
and their faces… their faces
… He meets them
in the strangest of places
In his mind he can never be alone
Who said Vietnam was over and gone…

Author’s Note: For a Friend