war remnants…

his matted graying dreadlocks
stream from his pitted memories of war
flowing over shoulders once adorned
with stars and stripes
now hosting only the ghost of yesterday’s meal
served by some holy roller kitchen
where would-be-saints
dish out equal servings of pious gruel
with side dishes of soul cooking
trying to save a soul
that has long vacated the premises
evicted by the good citizens of oz
for failing to whistle a happy tune
while scavenging the streets for dignity
or just some remnant of self