Navy Blue
The photo shows you at attention,
in heavy woolen 13-button pants,
the middy shirt with satin ribbon.
It smelled
of moth balls when I got it.
Dark, deep Navy blue,
the uniform you discarded, treasured by your mother
I wore on Halloween.
I was thirteen.
Navy blue, dense wool, impervious to rain,
it kept you warm from the foggy Golden Gate
crossing the dateline to the Battle of the Philippines.
I wore the dark and somber coat
holding candles in the rain
marching all night to recall
classmates slain at Kent State.
I was the only one who kept warm that night.
Wrapped in that sailor suit—
that navy blue
made me a soldier, too.
I was proud of my uniform (and yours)
but my “Ban the Bomb” embroidery
made you frown.
We fought
different wars, at different times.
Navy blue, flat cap perched upon my son’s lamp.
The pride piece in his collection of hats
is all that’s left of the block of blue
that colored the photo and your young life,
the uniform that lifted you from factory to school.
You finished college in a navy suit, and found a wife.
A grandson with your ears now wears that cap.
And as for me—
my Bible, briefcase, umbrella, purse
my coat, five pairs of pants and shoes, sweaters I choose
all are navy, navy blue.
Dad --
for you.
(To appear in an anthology of patriotic works, Spring 2012. Used with permission. )
