the heroes

The Heroes.

Fourteen men and a woman sit under a roman
bridge that spans a river that dries up in summers,
they used to be navy personnel, captured in Iran,
spent days there before being released, now they
are civilian, ex heroes, who got paid for exalting
tales spiced up by reporters. Now new freedom
beckons, the open road, they have done their stint
for the fatherland. Alas nothing is a useless as an
ex navy man, who needs one who’s good at firing
cannons, ashore? No hamburger joints I know of.
Too much booze no proper food all money gone,
pension too small; it is as one sorry for their lot if
you see them at night when they are awake staring
into the abyss. Three pieces of silver and lost years