Monument to an Unknown Soldier

[Philatone]

underneath the shadow of a rifle
raised parallel to heaven,
I sit, frozen,
as ripples of wind
course past his bronze vest.

A name
is nowhere to be found

so I got to wondering
who deserved to be remembered
posing so unnaturally.

Was it a prize
to be forever stitched with a scowl,
a punishment
to know no day
without a trigger and barrel
in a palm that never fell?

Lincoln has a chair to rest in,
Paul Revere a horse,

but this soldier
did just enough
to earn standing room

above an earth already filled
with memories, lying down,
hands clasped at the waist
like a scar;

the position
I frame myself in
when the mood strikes
at night.