by Rich Moll
Facing the seat pocket in front of me,
I reached in
And pulled out a magazine.
The pages returned me
To the Falklands War of 1982.
It was a strange war, fought in the
The war was long over at this reading,
The pain was not.
The dispute had come to a head.
The junta’s general
We want our Islands back.
They are the Maldives, not the Falklands.
The general orders them to cross
the sea to the Maldives
to regain what he believes
was always Argentines’.
Maggie said no, the Falklands are ours,
And so it would be,
After many bloody days and weeks.
At 35,000 feet above the earth
One’s mind clears.
The piece was not about the war,
But about the relatives
Of the fallen returning after the war,
to mourn the loss of their sons.
At 35,000 feet, I mourned the fallen too.
Rich Moll is a local author and lifelong resident of Irondequoit. A husband, father and grandfather he worked as a chemist for 40 years. His hobbies include traveling, photography, reading, and mycology. Rich can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org