The Fondue Writer’s Club is one again serving up some free reading material for you during a holiday, and this time it is for Memorial Day.
I almost passed on this, because I do not feel qualified. I have nothing but respect for those who have served our nation, and when I think of those who gave their lives defending our liberties it takes words from my mouth. Thank you to all who served, and let us never forget those who died that we might live.
But I didn’t pass. I started to write something a little flippant with Wyoming Wallace, who is a character in my Butch Gregory novels (yes, there are three novels and many short stories). Wyoming is a veteran of the first Iraq War. But then, the emotions came on, and when emotions come I gravitate toward poetry. Therefore, I wrote you a poem.
It has an odd rhyming scheme which is meant to be unsettling. I don’t want the reader to ever get too comfortable or too settled in. There are three different stories, four stanzas each, for a total of twelve stanzas.
The other Fondues will be posting next week and we finish with Joseph Courtemanche on Memorial Day. It is my distinct pleasure to go first, and with that . . . here is “Resolved”.
Resolved
Jamie D. Greening
To say he was only a kid is to deny his voice;
he knew the score, he made his choice.
There was news of sneak attacks and burning boats,
of Pearl Harbor, sailors entombed undersea,
the day that will forever live in infamy.
His country called,
he resolved,
to serve.
With a raised hand he took the vow;
this young man was in the navy now.
No pilot’s wings or gunners steel for his strong hands,
in the belly of the beast he labored and toiled,
on the levers and gears where the engine roiled.
His country called,
he resolved,
to serve.
Fiery flames cough and choke;
exhaust fumed, the smell of war and smoke.
The battle was won, but the ship was lost,
he stayed at his post and gave full power,
the day he died was his finest hour.
His country called,
he resolved,
to serve.
The Japanese bombs sent him to the deep;
under the pacific his soul found sleep.
Back in Ohio, they had his funeral,
his mother and father weeped and wailed,
yet oh so proud of the ship he sailed.
His country called,
he resolved,
to serve.
To say he had no choice is to deny his dreams;
he wanted to build from iron beams.
With an architects mind he’d been born,
and raised with love by his dad and mom,
yet far away war rose again, this time in Vietnam.
His country called,
he resolved,
to serve.
The politicians called it a lottery, but it was no game;
he was sent to the army when his number came.
In his bunk, he dreamed of buildings and a girl named Peggy,
when the war was over and he’d finish his call,
he’d marry that girl and design skyscrapers big and tall.
His country called,
he resolved,
to serve.
Some called it war, some an action, but it was hell;
on unknown hills and fields our very best fell.
Somehow, he survived three nightmare tours,
With both arms and legs, his body whole,
coming home, though, left a void in his soul.
His country called,
he resolved,
to serve.
Bangs and bombs and choppers woke him at night;
Peggy whispered in the dark, ‘are you alright?’
America was bleak, his dreams dead, the nation cursed him,
baby killer and criminal they called him around town,
the rest of his life in a bottle he’d drown.
His country called,
he resolved,
to serve.
To say she was only a girl is to deny her will;
her heart longed to walk the edge, to never be still.
A degree in one hand and job offer in the other,
but for her it was the desire for commitment, duty and service,
work that made her nation safe, a life filled with purpose.
Her country called,
she resolved,
to serve.
A woman of valor, A Marine captain out to Afghanistan,
to a godforsaken country raped by the Taliban.
She built schools and protected the future of boys and girls,
then the end came, guarding the retreat from Bagram,
where she perished from a cowardly suicide bomb.
Her country called,
she resolved,
to serve.
Fingers were pointed and blame went all around;
no one considered the cost to the troops on the ground.
A political disgrace, incompetence on display,
our best deserved better, but the shaft they received,
no one could fault them for feeling deceived.
Her country called,
she resolved,
to serve.
Her body returned in a flag draped coffin;
photos of pigtails and braces the tears couldn’t soften.
At the service the pastor prayed for comfort and peace,
family and friends remembered and cried,
wondering for exactly what was it she had died.
Her country called,
she resolved,
to serve.