Hanging onto my son,
tears held back,
as he walks out the door.
One last hug and kiss.
Is it the last?
"I'll be fine mom —
don't worry."
Lingering look.
Uniform,
freshly pressed —
dressed to kill.
He'll be fine his wife said,
rubbing her baby bump.
Tears held back —
lingering look.
Knock on the door.
Uniforms and folded flag.
Freshly pressed —
dressed to kill.
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This poem made me feel like I was standing there too. A good example of how the right details build the scene in the readers mind.
Gutting