Up the coast to another territory.
Hollywood war music on the radio.
The real war in Europe in my mind.

Combat boots delivering newspapers in my youth. The same
toes pressing the leather in my truck on the Vineyard.

Sea inspired I roll in my forces of one, on the harbor in a light
rain. Pedestrians not snipers stroll by. Violins strum on the
radio of peaceful climes.

I move on, to the next town looking for a local disturbance
to quiet down.

The seagulls fight the local battle for their breakfast.

I park and debag my own breakfast fare. Time is up for my
morning advance report on local action.

The war is far from here. I fear the news will stumble in the
most modern forms of itch and worry, news reports.

Driving slowly back to Edgartown to work another retirement day.