What motivates his silence
On the days he seldom speaks
The shift before or the one ahead
Maybe mates out on the street
What occupies his thought life
As he in darkness sits alone
What’s going through his mind
In those moments on his own
Why are some days just so good
While others fall apart
And some just spell disaster
From the moment that they start
What makes him hug his children
After all night at a smash
Some days we get on just so well
On as many we seem to clash
What is it that he sees or does
That floats or sinks his heart
Like the changing of the tidal times
On his favorite fishing chart
What lifts him when he works the street
To beat the odds and the fears
But in the comfort of his lounge room
Reduces him to tears
I watched him there late one night
As I stood near an open door
And he sat beside the fire
On his favorite piece of floor
And I wondered what attraction
What does that blue line hold
What is it about that uniform
That makes a young man old
I only wish I understood
What that blue shirt covers up
Of the sights and sounds of life and death
That daily fills his cup
Where in solitude and darkness sits
His family home his clover
Where tears from tracks across his face
As his cup - it runneth over
Few ever see those moments
His privilege and his right
To ponder and to question
To unload the daily fight
As the flame light showed the creases
And the ever changing grey
I would have liked to have spoken
I just didn’t know what to say
So I tip toed toward the stairway
And passed his gun belt on the board
And thanked God - I only wondered
Just what hurt his heart absorbs.
A.B. GUNTER
C. 1986
