Mr. Kiesling had his kiosk in the lobby.
The unseeing eyes, the burns on his face,
His little newsstand seemed out of place.
He sold papers and candy and cigarettes,
Someone told me he was one of the vets,
As a young man he had heard the call,
Without caring that he might fall.
He tore into Hell where the firing was hot,
The burns on his face were all that he got.
They sewed up his wounds, and made a new lip,
Then sent him home on a Hospital Ship.
He had a white cane and blank stare,
But he could get to most anywhere.
The VA sent him to the Blind School,
To learn new skills and tools that were cool.
He came to our town and settled on down,
And it was good just to see him around.
He did not rue fate, and his dealings were straight,
He opened at eight and he never was late.
The Man at the Post Office gave us his all,
He should have got a plaque on the wall.
May we all remember a life lived with grace,
With unseeing eyes and burns on his face.
LDT November 11, ‘23
This poem is dedicated to the blind man who ran the Bodega at the Havre, Montana Post Office. He took some classes at Northern when I was there. his name was Rob Kiesling. He was wounded in the Battle of the Bulge. May his service and sacrifice always be remembered.
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