Repatriation and a Rainstorm

Shot down over the northern edge of Kandahar, he is repatriated

back to Ontario on a day of thunderstorms. Air smelling of rain

and weedy-bottomed lakes. The pressure of clouds

like a steep descent.

Onlookers line the streets, waiting in the wind for his plane to land

in two-star Trenton, the leaves of each tree

turning inside out.

As the crowd stands hushed, looking

for that grey fin of plane to appear,

his family files out onto the tarmac, holding on to their hats,

each other

as though they are old.

I recall that photo of him, the one that gets taken

before you go overseas – the same day you get all your needles

and anti-malarial pills.

He was one of the few to have smiled.

You never think it’s going to be you.