The Empty Hallway

“I told them I’d stay for free,” she said,
“But they won’t let me.”
She was a hospital clerk at the V.A.
In 1995, in the year of no budget,
When Bill and Newt played chicken
And the country played dumb.

One day I heard wheels echoing in the empty hall.
I looked out and saw a bed with sides
Like a medical wheelbarrow
With was what was left of a soldier in it.

“Tarawa,” someone whispered.
“Ever since,” came a reply.

Half a century he’d rolled around the V.A.,
Unable to walk or talk or eat or anything.
He’d given up his life for his country,
And I was absolutely sure
That if you had told him on that day
The government would shut down and leave him
With only “necessary staff” to care for him--

He’d have laughed if you told him that.
If you’d said his country wouldn’t care
He’d have slugged you.

I read to him, although they said he couldn’t hear,
And was glad he couldn't know his country's shame
He’s gone, now, I’m sure, to a place where his legs and arms work
And his government works, and his country cherishes heroes like him.

But there are others, from other Tarawas
Rolling down those halls,
Soldiers who fought for us
And who thought we’d fight for them.
Sometimes at night in my own bed
I think I hear the wheels in the empty hall
And I cry all over again.