The Regulars
by Peter M. Gordon

They pile drinking money on the bar
Seamed faces under faded caps
Beer foam flecks their lips

Buy them a round of Bud
More dead soldiers join their comrades
Smoke exhales color the air

As they
Swap stories

Frigid hill in Korea
Scraping a hole out of hard ground
With a dull bayonet

Rushing a bridge over the Rhine
Tracers whined shells exploded
Running faster as their buddies fell

Over the top at Belleau Wood
Leveled muskets at Cold Harbor
Formed ranks on the green at Lexington

Sit on the same tired stools
Where bartenders start pouring
Soon as the door pushes open

Join the regulars
Nothing will hurt you
Not on their watch

Peter M. Gordon has worked as a theatre director, writer, teacher, television programmer, and producer. He always loved reading poetry, and began writing poetry a few years ago when an essay he was writing about his oldest son came otu as a poem. He lives in Orlando, Florida, where he’s a member of the First Monday Poetry Group. Peter’s poems most recently appeared in 34th Parallel Magazine and in “Poetry to Feed the Spirit.” Peter also writes a content development blog: