December 14 (2003) (Written On The Night Of Saddam Hussein's Capture.) Poem by Kit Ludlow

While the headline echoed from the newsstand,
He laced his boots, grabbed his rifle and went out.
His shift had come, unknown to the foreman.
The man stood guard over the world of doubt,
Assured that his solitude meant honor.
He blanketed himself with the glow of stars,
Stars that hung over his wife and daughter.
The tyrant's capture made him ponder hard.
His thoughts swarmed toward freedom from duty;
A gentle push of a swing, a small laugh.
No one had promised him a leave lately.
He was overstayed but there still were Baaths.
The hour stuck five. Scrapple raced through his chest.
The soldier fell, a number like the rest.