tanka prose

Charred

After Vietnam, he never fit in — left his family behind, drifted through the back streets of a series of Midwestern cities. Hobbled by nightmares and pills, he gave what little he had to the three-legged mutt he found in a rail yard. When the Veterans’ Home finally took him in, they made him give up the dog. He hasn’t spoken since.

.....scent
.....of a neighborhood
.. ..barbecue—
 ....in the unlit day room
.. ..an old soldier weeping

haikuKATHA #48, Oct25