His shoes.
Weak knees-
He fell off a couple
Of times.
Afraid of wearing
Them now.
But he polishes
Every morning and
Slides them under
The cot, like it's a salute
To his body that
Doesn't obey.
Dreams of running
With the shoes on
But the reality of
Every morning is
A defeat of limping
In the house.
This struggle-
Past borders,
Past medals,
Past time itself to
Cope with the new
Reality-
The battlefield now
Is the hallway,
And victory is simply
Not falling.