'The Soldier'

The lights were red
When he crossed the border line
His heart was fired
By passions hot and undefined.
On the hilltops past his journey
Were the flickers of warmth and light.
Other hearts were beating
On that cold and lonely night.

The staccato bursts of neon guns
Held him close to covers near
Truck stop sentries manned their posts
And shadows hid his fear.
He was a lone and lonely soldier
That history had outgrown
His road was marked and limited
But endless
Because he was alone.

"How goes the battle?"
The waitress said
As she poured coffee to warm his cold
"It's a routine day
And more tomorrow
Or so the papers told."
There were people all around them
Yet he never heard them speak
It was the only time
In the routine day
For a break in a routine week.

He couldn't be sure if she wanted an answer
She was putting it all on his bill
It was the price of coffee
On a routine day.
It was a question that tested will.

She said "Please don't think me forward
You just look so cold and lost
It's like that on these routine days--
A half dollar's all the cost."

She saw his eyes and smiled at him
And the strangers' speech was freed

He felt the warmth of her coffee
And thanked her with his need.

He said "It's nice to see I matter
The days are not that bad
That you can't see the difference between me
And the other customers that you had.

"I'm on a lonely journey
That may not ever end
And it's comforting to talk this way
And feel you are a friend."

She smiled again and took his coins
And went to wait anew
"How goes the battle?"
He heard her say
"Same tomorrow's the paper's view."

He buttoned up his coat top and once more faced the door
The road opened up before him and he readied for the war.
The hilltops flickered, some fires went dark
As he slipped between their lines
As he put his hands in his pockets
Now cold
As he removed it from his mind.

--by GORDON C. WONG,
from "What Lies Beyond This Door",*
copyright 1982 by GORDON C. WONG

*-hopefully to be published in the new millennium.

-THIS IS ONE OF THE ONES THAT JUST CRIES OUT TO ME TO BE PUT TO MUSIC. I HAVEN'T WRITTEN THE MUSIC, BUT I CERTAINLY CAN ENVISION A PATENTED CLARENCE CLEMONS PLAINTIVE SAX SOLO ECHOING THROUGH THOSE HILLTOPS.