He sits in a wheelchair by the freeway exit
A cardboard sign in his only hand
A missing leg he also exhibits
"I'm a Marine from Afghanistan"

His home is now an empty box
Under a highway bridge
He has no table, chair, or clock
No stove, no grill, or fridge.

He smells from a lack of showers
But it's not the odor of flowers.
He has no place to wash his soiled pants
Or body with sores, dried dirt, and ants.

He eats from dumpsters when little is given
Into the can on the ground near his sock
Or he goes to the kitchen at Loaves and Fishes
For a meal made from a food locker stock.

"I gave so you could earn millions
Gambling on stocks and bonds.
What do you return to your minions
Who fought for a generation and won.

A pat on the back, a "Job Well Done"
"A Thank You for Your Service"
We need more help to end our grief
So where are you when you hear our need?

~ Raymond Leo Blain, Former Major USAF