Look, Tony's On TV

•

That was Leona's husband,
four soldiers back, to the right,
eyes on the Thanksgiving turkey
while others stared into the camera,

mouthed "hi" and "home soon."
Still her excitement bubbled over.
"That's Tony!" she shrieked.

Being on the news made his being there
suddenly worthwhile.
Forget the patrols.
Forget wading through rubble
to bring out the wounded, the dead.
Forget even the paralytic boredom
of days behind barriers,
in tomb-like barracks,
playing cards, cleaning rifles,
lying on the bunk, staring at the ceiling,
imagining it's Midwestern sky.
He was there when video rolled.
And he was grinning,
maybe thinking of the last time
he ate like this.

Who knows how many Leonas
there were that night.
Maybe an entire country of them
leaning into that TV screen
to be there with him.
Maybe there were even Leos
but the night I watched
it was all men slicing and dicing
and digging in.

And this was a war
starved of close-ups,
of faces, of people known to somebody.
But it was Thanksgiving,
even in the desert.
No expense was spared.
A photo op must never go hungry.