An 88-Year-old’s Concern About the Draft

By Ernie McCray

I’ve been an 88-year-old
for a few days now
and I’m still rocking,
however, not to my surprise,
to the same vibe
I was moving to during
the waning moments of my 87 years
of life,
dealing with the little aches and pains
and minor discomforts and irritations
that come with aging
and having to continue
fighting off a president’s lies
like a man
shooing and swatting flies
in response to a war
to which he gave rise,
one that’s going more and more awry
as each day passes by
with the answer to the question
what is it good for
remaining:
“Absolutely nothing!” –
the only exception,
in my perception,
being World II,
which was fought
when I was a little boy,
although I will forever remember seeing
my dad’s brother,
Uncle Henry,
return home in 1945,
looking like he had been to hell
and hadn’t quite come back
with everything intact
and there was nothing about the Korean War
or the Vietnam War,
or any of the other wars in which America
as engaged
that have done anything other than enrage me
as I knew someone in each of those battles
who didn’t come home alive
and, now, here I am,
closing in on nine decades of life
wincing, while a president shucks and jives,
with no solid plan in mind
or one that he refuses to share
about what he’s doing in Iran,
while talk of reinstating
the draft
occasionally enters into
the conversation,
something that hasn’t happened
since 1973,
and something
I don’t want to ever occur again,
considering I have several grandsons
whose ages
qualify them for a military conscription
in a conflict this fool
could conjure up
before the count of three,
whimsically,
with absolutely no rhyme or reason –
possibly posing as a “doctor” looking like “Jesus”
for heaven’s sake,
when I want them,
as one who morally doesn’t see war as a viable
resolution to disputes,
to not have anyone choose the paths
they take,
to not having older generations
sending them off to combat unwillingly.

Not to mention that at age 88
I don’t want to have to
as I once did, take to the streets
to end compulsory service again.
But I will for my grandchildren.

This dangerous behavior has to end.