Poem: Heart of Gold

A poem about being billeted — another one…

Being billeted was weird. One time I had to
sit and eat dinner with a kid four years
younger than me. And his family of course.

I’d just beaten him 27-0 in hockey. I scored
14 of those goals, and I wasn’t even a striker.
The kid’s dad laughed in his face

when he cried, announcing the score. I had
been pushing cold peas around my plate,
hiding them under the clump of potato.

After room-temp jelly, I went to bed
as early as possible. Put my Walkman on,
fell asleep listening to Neil Young.