Baleful, bitter battle of dry and ancient tears filling up the belly while drowning out the years. The gnashing taste of courage pricks a swallowful of shame. They tell him he's a hero as they fit him for a cane.
They honour him in spirit when out to fight but can't look him in the eye now he's home at night. He reaches for the bottle that greets him at the door like a friend of old one he knew before.
As he raises it's mouth to his he ponders to his whiskey when he's kissing this bottle, instead of his wife “Does she even miss me?” He never missed, not even once A lifetime was practise enough, He told his bottle he'd be back again joined his wife in the kitchen with a life ending bang